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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28823502">You Come and Go</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictropes/pseuds/Fictropes'>Fictropes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Pet Store, Strangers to Lovers, i mean... it's a rom-com</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:08:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,331</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28823502</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictropes/pseuds/Fictropes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh! Hi.” The man sticks his head around the corner, gives a smile brighter than the entire fucking store. “There you are.”</p>
<p>(Or a stranger walks into a pet-store.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dan Howell/Phil Lester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>159</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello! decided to bring this fic back, but with a few changes and now it's actually complete! hope you enjoy :). if you read the first 3 chapters then you can skip to chap 4 because the changes aren't actually to do with story!</p>
<p>thankyou to keelin for beta-ing, and thankyou sierra for letting me steal the name of your fish.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dan’s been here for too long, or not long enough—can’t decide. Thinks he’s properly losing it today, starting to see himself in the face of the fishes. The red one on the left looks like him, a bit, all dramatic and mopey. The lizards don’t like him, the snakes wanna eat him like he’s a mouse—all he has are the fishes. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s hard to leave a place once you’re settled, once you know you’re in it—once you’re comfortable. And he has thought about it, a lot, about leaving and doing something that’s not just selling weird dudes some funky reptiles. But he’s comfortable, so he doesn’t. He comes in five days a week, he stands behind a counter, he tries not to give the slithery long boys in the glass tanks across from him another reason to hate everything he ever does.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The fish are his friends, the fish only head-butt the tank once or twice when they see Dan’s stupid massive face coming up to see them. He’s more tetchy about selling them, wants to go to people’s homes and properly vet them out to make sure they’re not planning on sticking them in a frying pan for dinner. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His boss says they can’t do that though cos<em> it’s a fish and not a fucking literal baby, Dan. </em>Maybe when Dave leaves he’ll become the boss, set up his own five step plan to owning a fish. For now he’s just a regular employee, regular until Dave is out of town and Dan’s the only who can step into the role of making sure every creature doesn’t accidentally die. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Fishtropica </em>is Dan’s second home by this point, and he should probably move out. It’s just—he sort of likes it. It pays shit, it does nothing for his social life, it’s filled with things that probably wanna strangle him but—he fucking likes it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He likes that it’s a bit too dark, that half the floor is carpet and the other half is tile, that he’s learnt to duck to get into the staff room because the doorframe is just a little too low. He just couldn't imagine himself anywhere else, even if that somewhere else paid better and didn’t want to knock him out via dodgy floor plans.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So Dan stays, Dan stays in his 9-5 and pretends to everyone he knows like he hates it because that’s what you’re supposed to do. You’re supposed to sigh, kick your shoes off too loudly, you’re supposed to hate everything about everything. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s nearing lunch now and he’s starving, considering frying Ravioli across the way—but his five step plan doesn’t allow for that. He’s just about to leave, to get up and flip the little sign to closed but whenever he plans that it never actually happens. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bell above the door tinkles, a noise that is permanently ingrained in Dan’s mind—a noise that means he might have to go and persuade one of the snakes to be his friend and to get out of the tank. He hopes today isn’t going to be a snake day, only just recovered from the weird little tongue in the ear Bert had given him the other week. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bert is like properly the evil one, wants to kill Dan on sight even though Dan is nice and gives him whatever he wants. Always a bit too much food, always a bit too long outside, always nice and gets nothing but death threats in return. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi!” The voice is a cheery one, but whoever it is is blocked off by a shelf filled with fish flakes. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dan takes a second to imagine who it belongs to—a game he plays too much, a game he’s fucking awful at. He’s never guessed correctly, always turn the corner and are the complete opposite of who Dan has dreamed up in his head. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sometimes, when he’s in a particular mood, he imagines it’s the love of his life. His soulmate coming in to sweep him off the half carpet/half tile floor. It’s been five years and it hasn’t happened, but today could be the day. Today a tall, ripped, totally gay dude could walk around the corner and propose—or ask him out for a drink. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi.” Dan replies, to nothing, because whoever walked in apparently walked right back out again. “Cool. Love it. Thanks for stopping by.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then the bell goes off again, the same cheery <em>hi. </em>For a second Dan thinks he’s living in a really awful part of groundhog day, but maybe—a groundhog five seconds. He’s destined to live out this moment forever, a bell and a hi until he—he actually doesn’t even know<em> what.</em> Until Bert becomes his fucking husband, or something. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry! Forgot my shoes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“Your shoes?” Dan asks, a little bit—perplexed, dumbfounded, all other words that mean really fucking confused. He gets bag, keys, wallet, gets forgetting your jacket. He doesn’t get forgetting your shoes. The last time Dan went outside without anything on his feet it was to put the bins out, and despite it being five seconds of his life he still managed to step in his next door neighbours cats shit. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, drive in my slippers. Comfy.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh! Hi.” The man sticks his head around the corner, gives a smile brighter than the entire fucking store. “There you are.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“Here I am.” Dan does a little gesture towards himself, a sarcastic <em>ta-da. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe this dude is his soulmate. This slipper wearing, too cheery human being who’s staring at him with wide-eyes—with absolute delight. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wot?” Dan asks, self-consciously dragging the back of his hand across his mouth—just incase. Because, alright, the guy is a bit weird but that doesn’t stop him from being hot. Doesn’t stop him from being Dan’s type. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s tall—really tall, Dan tall. All wrapped up in a grandad sweater that shouldn’t be that hot, but it really works on him. Hugs his body in the right way, brings out the colour of his eyes, makes him look cozy and safe. And now Dan thinks he really has lost it, because referring to a customer as cozy and safe is <em>peak</em> losing it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing!” Mr Sweater grins, tongue peaking out between crooked teeth—again, really works for him. “You’re just—erm, nothing.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m just what?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing, nothing.” The guy waves his hand desperately in mid-air, apparently trying to bat the conversation away. Smack the words out of the shop. “Fish?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about them?” Dan asks, then laughs when he sees the guys face—watches it go through about fifteen different emotions before settling on confusion. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I… want one?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah?” Dan raises an eyebrow. “What’re you going to do with it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—you know! Look after it! Watch it be a fish, help it swim?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“Help it swim?” Dan snorts, slaps his thighs as he stands up from the little stool he’s really not supposed to be sitting on. “I think they’re pretty good swimmers on their own, mate.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Feeding a fish will help it to swim, right? And i’ll be in charge of feeding.” He protests, or tries to protest. He sounds a bit too meek, a bit too unsure of his own logic, for this to be a proper argument. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who told you that?” Dan joins him, notes that he’s taller than this new strange customer but in— it’s in a good way. “Father Christmas?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why would he tell me that?” Weird dude frowns, like Dan’s really the stupid one in all of this—and he might be, actually. “He’s got nothing to do with fish.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dan just— he giggles, properly giggles.He can’t remember the last time that had happened— a noise of just pure joy. “C’mon, you. Let’s go see these magic non-swimming fish.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he gets followed, followed too closely by someone who apparently has no concept of personal space. And usually Dan would mind, properly mind, but the dude smells nice and at one point he lets out a squeak when Dan stops and it results in them crashing into each other. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry ‘bout that, it’s just, we’re at the fishy.” Dan catches it before it’s too late, once it’s already out of his mouth—once it’s already been<em> heard. </em>He feels himself turn red, then sees himself turn red in the reflection of a tank. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fishy.” The guys laughs, but it doesn’t sound mean, or mocking—not a sound that makes Dan’s insides seize up. It’s a nice sound, a too pleasant sound to be directed at him. “Cute.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s been called more in the past, but it usually doesn’t elicit the reaction of his heart doing a tiny little backflip. Dan needs to stop having a type, needs to stop letting overgrown ex-emos ruin him. But today he’ll let it happen, as a treat, as a I deserve to flirt with a customer because it’s January and January is shit. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The fish are interested, too, all close up to the side of the tank. All practically begging this guy to adopt him, and, honestly, Dan would be begging too if he had even slightly less dignity. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’re you looking for, mate?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“Stop call—my name’s Phil.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“Ok.” Dan half-laughs for no reason, because nothing is actually funny apart from his own desperation. “What’re you looking for, Phil?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fish.” Phil replies, simply.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We covered that, yeah.” Dan taps ever so gently on the glass, just to get Ravioli to turn around for a second. “What sort?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He has lots of them, all in different colours and sizes. Dave told him not to name anything because that fosters attachment—or something else bullshit sounding. He ignored it, named all the snakes and lizards immediately, but so far only one fish has a name. Ravioli. He’s just—different. Easy to spot. Doesn’t blend in cos he’s made to be a fish star. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oooo, that one. What’s their deal?” Phil asks, presses a long finger to the side of the tank. Dan thinks he’ll be a good fish parent, a lot of people come in here and furiously knock against the glass—don’t realise they’re creating a literal fish earthquake. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Their deal is being red and sexy.” Dan replies, then realises he’s once again said something stupid out loud. “Apart from not sexy cos it’s a fish and not a fucking—sorry, swore. God. Pretend the last thirty seconds never happened, please?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can see Phil smiling in the reflection of the glass, eyes all scrunched up and—he’s fucking cute, that’s what Phil’s<em> deal </em>is. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not that he wants to impress this guy, apart from he absolutely wants to impress this guy. Dan wants to break out his wealth of fish knowledge, woo him by talking about filters and tank temperatures. He’s just been living in daydream land for a little bit too long, it’s carrying over into real life—he’s not going to fall in love with this <em>customer.</em></span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, so you don’t think fish are sexy and you didn’t say a bad word.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“Are you copying me?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“Are you copying me?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Phil!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fishy.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oi—no. It’s Dan. Don’t call me fishy.” But Dan’s—he’s just a bit endeared by it all. Usually he’s got a full on battle going on mentally with every customer, spends hours imagining the witty (but non-fireable) remark he could’ve made back to one when they tried to return a fish for not being <em>entertaining enough. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I dunno, anyone who finds fish sexy is pretty fishy to me.” Phil is still smiling, but this time it’s bigger—crinklier—full on looking like a bulldog puppy with all their little wrinkles. And Dan thinks that’s a compliment, but he doesn’t dare say it out loud. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We both agreed to forget that thirty seconds.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“I dunno.” Phil shrugs. “I don’t think I actually said I would.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it should be annoying, that someone’s come in here and disrupted his entire day via making him swear and somehow admit to finding fish sexy—not that he<em> actually</em> does. But it isn’t. It’s actually really fucking nice. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He likes it here, a lot, but it’s lonely. It’s a small shop, runs on barely any staff and most of the time Dan is the only person actually down on the floor. You can only pass so much time scrolling twitter, or trying to befriend snakes who don’t want to be your friend. Human interaction is nice sometimes, and interaction with this human is particularly nice. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re evil then?” Dan asks, just to see that smile get a little bit bigger. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” Phil agrees, easily—like he actually is here to commit crime. “Evil dude needs evil fish to complete evil masterplan of… evil, or other <em>Fall Out Boy</em> song titles.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Knew it!” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Knew what?” Phil finally looks away from the fish and back to Dan, and Dan wishes he hadn’t because now he has to deal with this. All of Phil’s face up close, giving him all the attention. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That you were like—erm, you know. An ex-emo child.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Phil doesn’t even blink, doesn’t even seem to care about being perceived. “If you stick me underneath a shower you’ll get the full on side fringe.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Same. Or just give me back a pair of straighteners so I can torture my hair into emo submission.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I like these—erm, curls. Waves? I think they’re more curly than wavey.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Phil does a little hand motion, tries to get it to follow the pattern of Dan’s fringe— but it’s more violent, more a wave that’d kill them both if they tried to swim in it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, that was more of a like— you think i’ve put all my hair in a blender.” Dan shifts onto his left hip, tries to act like he’s cool by leaning all casual against a shelf filled with boxes of crickets. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Phil, though, apparently does not give one shit about how he presents himself. He’s stood like he never actually learnt how to stand, all weird stances and legs too far apart—ready to ride a horse that Dan doesn’t actually sell. And the hands are just—funky little things. One half in one of his jean pockets but back to front, the other floating in mid-air still. Dan is all in all obsessed, and will tell Dave all about him later. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have you ever tried to put your fingers in a blender?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“Er—no.” Dan replies, a little alarmed. “Have you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, but I have had a dream about it once.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oooft, how was that?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Less terrifying than it sounds.” Phil squats back down, back to staring at the fish and apparently done with the talk about self-mutilation. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dan doesn’t know what to do apart from join him, squat down beside him and hope all his thigh meat doesn’t stick out too much through the rips in his jeans. He’s glad they’re on the half carpet side of the store for this, the tiled side is unusually slippy most of the time. There’s CCTV footage of him going arse over tit that Dave refuses to delete, Dan likes to argue that it’s an attack on his <em>personal liberties </em>but that just eggs Dave on—then he threatens to upload it to youtube. <em>Giant Overgrown Baby Man Falls into Fish Tank. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, without saying sexy…” Dan can’t see Phil’s face but he just knows he’s smirking, knows he’s giving Dan the side eye, “what is this fish’s deal?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shutup.” Dan whines, wobbles a little bit on unsteady feet—he doesn’t do this often, actually squat, actually do something that could be sort of considered exercise. “He’s a cool dude, and his name is Ravioli.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“Ravioli?” Phil does nearly fall back then from his apparent excitement, rescues himself last minute by grabbing on Dan’s elbow. And strangers touching Dan usually makes him bristle, makes him want to go home and take a shower, but today—god, today he doesn’t mind. Today Phil’s fingers digging a little too hard into his skin is actually a bit of a thrill—which says something for how sad his life is. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, Ravioli.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“I love it when animals have, like, really weird names.” Phil smiles, hand still on Dan’s elbow and Dan’s heart still behaving badly. “What’re the other ones called?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“Oh—er.” And now Dan feels guilty, like he should make up a dozen names on the spot just to pretend he’s a better person. “They’re actually all nameless, like… I just can’t tell them apart, so.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Phil just nods, like that makes any sense at all. Then the hand is gone and Dan wants it back, just a bit—just slightly. “Yeah, makes sense. He’s a Star fish… haha, get it? Fish who’s a star…”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I get it, Phil.” And the laugh Dan gives isn’t even a pity laugh, because honestly it’s nice to know someone else is experiencing the exact same thoughts as him. Something comforting in Phil standing here voicing all the ideas that usually just bounce around in Dan’s empty brain. “He’s clearly the diva here.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oooo, but I want him so bad. I want a diva fish.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then get the diva fish, dumbo.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fishy.” Phil corrects, looking far too proud of himself. And he doesn’t blink at the half insult Dan had just delivered, instead he just grins all big and fond—and too much for just gone one in the afternoon. “Gimme the fishy, Danny.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So Dan gives Phil the fish, and all the necessary things you need to look after a fish. Phil goes overboard, insists on buying basically every single thing they have on offer. And they have a lot on offer, about a million different decorations, bags of pebbles, food that Dan doesn’t even understand because aren’t all fish flakes essentially the same? </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Phil has a trolley full, and when Dan reads out the quite big total sum he doesn’t even blink. Just slaps his card down against the machine, then realises he’s spent way too much for contactless to be a thing. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, what’s my pin?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know.” Dan snorts. “Do I look like your bank?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“No.” Phil frowns, the intent stare he’d had directed towards the little keypad now directed at him. “If you were a pin number, what pin number would you be?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I dunno? Birthday? Special day? Whatever number the bank gave me, like, fifteen years ago cos i’m too lazy to change it.” Dan taps at the till screen when the machine eventually times out, tells Phil to remove his card. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Phil just stands there staring into space for a few minutes, apart from he’s actually staring at Dan. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh! 1909.” Phil tries it again, and this time it goes through. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mate, you just literally screamed your pin at me.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you going to steal from me?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Probably not.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then it’s fine then.” Phil just— doesn’t care, apparently. Shoves his card back into his wallet, doesn’t even think about calling the bank to change it because a complete stranger who works in a fucking Fish store knows all about it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right, ok—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>Dan doesn’t get to finish his thought because Phil is distracted, like a magpie who has spotted some gold on the sill of an open window. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ooo, is that a snake? I didn’t know you did other things here. Do you think I could pull off a snake?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dan tries to avoid going down the childish route, but it doesn’t work. A big loud cackle decides it has to come out of his mouth, make itself known.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Phil demands.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You shouldn’t pull off a snake, don’t think it’d like it.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It takes a minute, but then realisation dawns on Phil’s face and he just—he genuinely sticks his tongue out at Dan like an overgrown toddler.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shutup, get your thoughts out of the drain.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mind out of the gutter?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“What?” Phil’s nose wrinkles, like he has a genuine distaste for correct use of the English language. “That sounds stupid.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s literally the saying!” Dan’s trying to sound like he’s not having the time of his life right now, but the grin he can feel on his own face is betraying him. “Oh my god, you’re so weird.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, but you love having me in your shop.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They end up at the snakes, because Phil claims he can’t leave without saying hello to every creature in the place—<em>they might feel left out. </em>The walls are filled with glass tanks, but Dan’s a bit biased towards the one they’re stood in front of now. It contains Bert who, for once, looks happy to see him—probably something to do with the ray of sunshine stood beside him, a heat lamp with bones. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ooo, a big boy. Could he squeeze me to death?”<br/></span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you ask Bert nicely, he might squeeze you to death, yeah.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bert?” Phil grins, then he starts being all weird again—investigating the tank like he’s missing something. “Where’s Ernie?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No Ernie, he is soulmate-less.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nooo, why isn’t your shop filled with gaykes?” Phil’s pouting now, fingers practically caressing the glass—Dan wonders if Phil has as an Ernie of his own. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Gay snakes or gay cakes?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dan does the usual thing then, immediately softens around anyone who mentions something remotely gay. It’s not that he thinks everyone in the world is out to get him, but it’s nice having concrete evidence that they don’t think he’s the devil incarnate.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh! Both, it should definitely be both. A gaykery. We sell only gay snakes and gay cakes, people come in confused, but also leave confused.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah?” Dan laughs, jostles Phil gently over to the side so he can adjust a couple of things with the tank. It also might be because jostling Phil is fun, because pressing their shoulders together brings a certain type of warmth. “When’re we opening it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm, let me just contact my gay suppliers.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are we now gay joint business owners? Gay business venture owners? Just gay people with cakes and snakes?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Phil sighs happily, like he was waiting for the actual confirmation that Dan was gay—just didn’t want to outright ask. “All of the above?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And this time it’s Dan’s turn to sigh happily, to go a bit further into that soulmate customer fantasy. Because Phil is actually gay, and Phil is pretty and Phil is tugging at Dan’s sleeve to get his attention— the answer to his question.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“All of the above sounds good.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They leave the gay snake to his gay business, go back to Phil’s trolley full of stuff. And Dan’s going to do something he never usually does, unless it’s like an old person, he’s going to offer to help unload all the stuff into Phil’s car. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, no. I’m fine, promise. I actually have big ol’ muscles, if you close your eyes and just imagine that I have big muscles.” Phil flexes an arm and it’s not—it’s not huge, or big, but it’s… good. It’s a good arm, a little bit of something there. Something Dan wants to squeeze, but he doesn’t because that’d be insane. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Instead he just shakes his head, he pushes the trolley until Phil has no choice but to step out of the way or be run over by his new fish and new crush haver—cos Dan definitely has a little bit of a crush. He knows it’s unrealistic, a bit quick, but he’s allowed to have a crush on a pretty man who’s just spent so much money in the shop that Dave will probably end up giving Dan a little bit of a bonus.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not that I don’t believe in your buff arms, it’s just that Ravioli needs a proper goodbye because—because I just want to.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, then I guess you’re helping me load up the boot.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not what Dan had been expecting from this grandad sweater wearing dude. It’s a car that probably costs as much as—as Dan. If Dan tried to sell himself on eBay he’d probably actually get less for himself than he would for this white Audi sat badly parked outside the store. He almost doesn’t want to touch it, lest he get fingerprints on all that shiny. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dan doesn’t even like to drive, doesn’t enjoy the concept of being surrounded by other people in their very own metal box of potential death but, well—he likes this. He could be persuaded to drive if he was allowed to drive this. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I thought you were supposed to be helping.” Phil nudges him as he walks past, brings him back down to earth. Dan feels weirdly like a straight man, like he wants to fuck a car—because he thinks that’s what straight men are all about. Fucking cars, constantly acting like they hate their own wives, not knowing how to wash their own clothes—or something. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—what the fuck do you do, Phil?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’d you mean?” Phil is buried in the boot, trying to make room for everything he’d just bought. Dan isn’t watching, doesn’t take note of the little bit of pudge above the waistband of his jeans, doesn’t enjoy the broadness of his shoulders, but he might look at his arse once just to see if it’s better than his own—it is. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“As a—you know. Job? For work?” Dan asks, finally joining in with the hard labour stuff. He picks up too many bags of pebbles at once in a bid to impress, strains under the weight and drops them down too heavy into Phil’s too beautiful car. He’s about to apologise but Phil doesn’t even seem to have noticed, too busy strapping Ravioli into the passenger seat. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh nothing much, you know.” He’s trying to sound modest, and that means what he does is actually a lot. Dan feels mildly petrified about the idea, like he’s accidentally been a dick towards a secret member of the royal family. “Just written a few scripts.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like… movie scripts?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“Yeah, movie scripts.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dan thinks that’s bad, that he should know exactly who Phil is because most of his life is watching films. He leaves the store, goes home, puts on Netflix, eats loads of crap. He insists on watching the credits, for respect reasons, but the names never stick and—it’s just easier to remember a face. It’s not like the person who wrote the screenplay comes on midway through the movie to let you know they’re the one responsible for what you’re watching.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Big ones, I take it.” Dan tips his head towards the car, and suddenly has a terrifying thought about how if he were a less nice person he could steal Phil’s bank card and go to town. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Biggish ones.” Phil shrugs, and Dan gets the vibe that he doesn’t really like to talk about it that much. “I wrote one whacky screenplay and everyone was like oh that dude made money for those other people, maybe he can make money for us. I dunno, money is… whatever. I just like seeing my things come to life.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dan wants to point out that he’s driving a rather expensive car around, but then he also gets the feeling that wasn’t Phil’s choice. He doesn’t seem the type to go for something so obviously a statement of wealth, because everything else about him is inconspicuous. He’s wearing cable knit, for fucks sake. Got on a pair of slippers with skinny jeans. It doesn’t scream i’m rich. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So Phil is inconspicuous in a way, in <em>that </em>way. But in every other way he isn’t, in every other way he’s noticeable, someone you want to pay attention to. Dan almost wants to invite him back in for that lunch he hasn’t actually eaten yet. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fun. No wonder Ravioli is literally going to the life of luxury.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“I still think I could’ve pulled off a Britney Spears moment with a snake.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I dunno.” Dan gives him a proper up and down. “You have the legs for it, but you’re not exactly the blondest person i’ve ever met.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I could dye my hair.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think you could pull off blond. I think you’d kinda look like an evil Victorian child.” Dan says, but what he wants to say is the black really suits you, and to change that would be a bit of a travesty. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’ll make a deal.” Phil joins him back on the curb, done with Ravioli and his car safety instructions. He’s going to make a proper good fish dad, Dan thinks, glad Ravioli has gone to someone like him. “If I don’t dye my hair blond, you have to promise to not straighten yours.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm.” Dan pretends to think about it for half a second, to trick Phil into thinking this is a big new decision when really it was a decision he’d made years ago. “Deal.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shake on it.” Phil sticks his hand out, narrowly avoids just punching Dan straight in the ribs. “Or we can go blood pact, I don’t mind.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think… I mind.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“Fine, fine. Boring. Just normal shake on it, then.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So Dan does, reaches out his left hand and wonders if this will be that movie moment. He’ll wrap their hands together and feel electricity, sparks, this feeling of home. He doesn’t feel that, but he does feel warmth. He does laugh at how limp Phil’s wrist is. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shutup!” Phil whines. “I’m gay.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So am I, but look at the fucking strength of my handshake. No limpness in sight, just rock hard wrist action.” He exaggerates it, squeezes Phil’s hand a little bit too much and gets this look of absolute betrayal in return. He feels a bit like he’s kicked a puppy, or broken a couple of Phil’s fingers. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ow! Lemme go, let—off. Off.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So Dan let’s go, half lets go, turns the handshake more into a gentle caress of skin. Dan thinks he's allowed a homo-erotically charged moment, even if he’s had to invent it himself. “How were you planning on a blood pact if you can’t even take a medium hard handshake?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was not medium hard.” Phil’s the first to let go, just so he can hold his hand protectively up against his own chest. “That was hard hard.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll show you hard hard.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.” Phil smiles, abandons Dan on the curb as he gets into his car, leaves him with some choice parting words that’ll haunt Dan’s every waking moment for the rest of time. “I hope you’ll show me hard hard.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dan’s getting ready to leave when Dave pops in with his little black book in clutch, ready to write down the day’s takings. Sometimes Dan thinks it’s barely worth it, that he could just text him about the whole five pound they’ve got in the till that day. But today it’s worth it, today Dan has a massive card receipt laying in the little drawer. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fucking hell, did we get reversed robbed?” Dave asks, the northern tinge to his accent coming out to play whenever he gets shocked. “Who’d you trick?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shutup, just take the money and run.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did we sell a snake?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, look to your left and you’ll see a certain red boy has gone.” Dan knows he’s about to get shit, Dave knows he’s basically attached to that fish and has told certain people no because they don't <em>give off the right vibe. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jesus.” Dave goes over just to check, to peer into the tank and make sure Dan isn’t lying. “Who was he then? Must’ve been someone awfully handsome for you to let Ravioli go.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’d been an accidental coming out to his manager. He’s a fifty year old, stocky, bald bloke with more tattoos that Dan can count. And he’d been… a bit scared about the whole prospect of being fired cos he likes men, so he’d just been careful to never let anything slip. Then one day it all slipped, because one day Dave saw him with another man’s tongue in his mouth in the corner of a bar. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It happened quickly. A massive pat on the back, one so hard Dan was surprised his lungs didn’t burst out of his fucking chest. It was friendly, it was accompanied by a <em>if you’re late to work tomorrow, i’ll know why. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So Dave knows, and Dave likes to be a fucking menace about it. Anytime another man is in the shop who looks around Dan’s age he’ll try and play matchmaker. It’s like— Dave’s essentially the really embarrassing Dad that Dan wishes he actually had. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, shutup.” Dan buries his blush in the scarf he’s just wrapped around his neck. “He just seemed like a decent guy, I mean—look how much fucking money he just spent on a single fish.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dave is holding the receipt up high, looking like he’s considering framing the thing. And Dan wouldn’t blame him, beside the odd snake they sell that’s got to be the biggest singular sale of the last three years. “Did he buy—Jesus, Daniel. Why did you let him buy five bags of pebbles? He’s not even going to need to use one for that tank.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I dunno, he seemed excited. Maybe he can use the rest for his garden?”<br/><br/>“Oh.” Dave smiles, and it’s—creepy. “Little con artist are you? You tell these men to buy your pebbles and you’ll…”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shutup!” Dan whines, plonking his hat on—wonders if he can pull it down over his entire head. “He wanted a variety of colours.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, i’m sure. A <em>variety</em> of colours.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dan just—backs away slowly, has his hand on the doorknob ready to make his great escape out into the night. He’s usually in more of a mood to joke about these things, to play along with Dave, but for some reason Phil had made him feel something that he’s not really prepared to joke about.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.” Dave says, seemingly clues in just as Dan’s about to get away. “You actually liked him?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dan shrugs, looks like a sulking little toddler in the doorway. Like he’s Dave’s literal son, as opposed to just wishing he was. He probably needs to speak about that at therapy tomorrow, lay all his daddy issues out in a nice neat row.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He was just nice.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, I’ll find him for you. I’m sure with some CCTV and tracing his bank card…”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"></span><br/><br/>“Dave!” Dan huffs out a laugh, tries not to encourage him but sometimes that’s hard. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the people who show a genuine interest in your life <em>no</em>, especially when you went for so many years without it. “Shut up, don’t go all secret spy on him. He only came in here for a fish, not for a husband.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ok, but, just say the word and i’ll be straight on the phone to my contacts.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t have any contacts.” Dan snorts, then he finally takes the chance to bolt out of the door. Any longer and Dave would probably have convinced him into it, to track down Phil in a display of complete and utter… stalking, because it would’ve been stalking. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, you. Have a good day? Try to eat any more stones?” Dan asks, crouching down in front of the little tank in the corner of his living room. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s probably the best part of his entire flat. It’s not big, barely has any room for all his shit, and he only manages to afford it because Dave’s sister is the landlord and took pity on him. He’s tried to make it his own as much as humanly possible, hung stuff up with those things that act as nails but aren’t actually nails. Put a nice throw over the sofa, a rug down on the laminate, a few too many magnets up on the fridge. It’s not going to win any interior design awards, but at least it’s cozy. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Karma just looks back at him, as usual—wide and unblinking. He sort of reminds him of Phil. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes? Good day?” Dan opens up the lid of the tank, prises his chameleon friend out. “I think i’ve finally met one other person on planet earth that you’d actually like.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Karma is technically from the store, a free gift that Dave gave him after nine months of trying to get someone to buy him. It’s just—weird. Really weird. Dan’s the only person who Karma will let anywhere near him, gets all battle-axey with his claw hands when anyone else dares to even look at him. Dan can pick him up, Dan can feed him, Dan can carry him around the flat with zero issue. But when anyone ever came into the shop to try and buy Karma, he went absolutely feral. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So Dave eventually just told Dan to take the<em> little fuckface home. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And now Dan has a pet chameleon, which was the last thing he’d expected to ever have. He always used to dream about having a dog, maybe even a cat, but never a green grabby dude with no understanding of manners. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s called Phil, and honestly you look like you could be twins.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Karma just blinks, then he reaches out with his green mitts and pinches the tip of Dan’s nose. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is that a pinch of approval? You agree that you’d like Phil? Or is that a pinch of shut up you stupid Winnie the pooh sounding wanker, just hurry up and give me food?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Karma pinches. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ok, the food one.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dan goes through his usual nightly routine, makes himself dinner and then fills up a bowl with some crickets. It was weird, at first, having to just… store them. Open up the cupboard and have literal takeaway boxes filled with dead insects. He’d had an entire internal vegan meltdown, gotten over it when he realised he wasn’t personally going to be eating them—couldn’t enforce a meat free diet on a fucking chameleon. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Here you go, bone apple teeth.” And Dan thinks animals are smarter than people like to give them credit for, because he’d definitely just been side eyed by Karma. Just been told, telepathically, to stop having homoerotic thoughts about being back in his little shop with Phil, and instead just hand over the bowl of insects. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s weird company, but it works. Dan spent a solid eighteen months alone in this flat, and since the moving in of Karma he’s felt a lot better. It’s not like he wags his tail when Dan walks through the door, but he does get this stupid big blink that makes him feel less alone. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he does his thing. He eats. He opens netflix. He let’s Karma hang out on the sofa cushions and watch a movie with him. And then Dan veers off his usual track, because he does go down the slightly stalker-esque route. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Phil isn’t that hard to find, really. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan’s been trying to make a pound coin spin for longer than five seconds all morning, it’s been that dead in the store. It clatters against the wooden counter top again, bouncing in a way that makes Dan annoyed—like it’s rubbing it in, or something. He’d googled the world record earlier, it was something stupid like fourteen seconds. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan lasts five minutes before he picks it back up again, really tries his best to get to at least six. He has a horrible thought about a fluke fifteen second spin with no one around, going to Guinness world records and begging them to believe him. It’s just as his timer gets to five that the little bell above the door goes and ruins it all. Dan slams his palm down, stops it just incase it’s Dave coming in and telling him to do actual work.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">But actual work is hard to find when there’s no customers, when Dan’s already done the rounds—cleaned everything, made sure everyone has eaten. He’s even gone over the half tiled floor with a fucking mop, and it’s still not even lunch time. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">So he slams the coin down, ruins his definite about to be world record, and slaps on that customer service smile he’s come to hate with all his heart.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Hi!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">And Dan recognises that voice, immediately. Maybe he’s spent the best part of the week watching Phil do interviews on youtube, or maybe not—that’s between him and his google history. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Back so soon?” Dan asks, because it’s only been eight days and Phil definitely bought enough supplies to last a—god—a lifetime. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Fishy dimps!” Phil grins as he rounds the corner, holding a massive water bottle—Dan briefly fears Ravioli is literally inside it.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Excuse me?” Dan splutters, it’s not his finest look.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You know.” Phil prompts, rolls his eyes when Dan just shakes his head in return. “Fishy dimples. Cos you have fish, and you have dimples.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.” Dan smiles, a half smile. “You forgot my name then?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Right. Then say it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“… Dale?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No!” Dan laughs, that proper hyena sound that is probably the main reason why Bert hates him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“D…” Phil tries.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Just D?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I think.” And despite the <em>think</em>, Phil sounds so goddamn sure of himself. Dan has a split second worry about him being the one in the wrong here. Maybe his name<em> is </em>D. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No, not cool enough to pull that off.” Dan shoves the pound coin back into the till, had enough of that now he's got a new, even shinier, distraction in the form of Phil Lester—because he knows that now, knows everything Wikipedia had to tell him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Fine.” Phil grumbles, folds his arms over his chest—like he’s being properly told off. “I don’t know, I was distracted by the dimples.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not going to tell me?” Phil’s bordering on being whiny, and Dan’s enjoying it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Nope.” Dan pops the<em> P</em>, puts on a proper show about being offended. But he can’t talk, he can’t say fuck all because his next door neighbour has told Dan his name repeatedly, and every time Dan forgets. He apparently only has room in his head for the names of men who he wants to—he wants to probably kiss. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Well—I will remember. Just give me a sec.” Phil requests.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">So Dan gives Phil a sec. Watches him close his eyes, bring his hands up to his temples for a weird little massage. Dan doesn’t know if it’s supposed to be boosting his memory or what, all he can focus on is how long Phil’s fingers are. How they’re moving in these neat little circles. How he, himself, is a fucking fiend who needs to go out and get laid. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Still not my name.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Come here and massage my head, maybe that’ll work. If the two of us do it.” Phil means it, Dan thinks. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No! You weirdo, i’m not giving you a free head massage.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil just smirks, eyes still closed and fingers still having a funky time. Dan just continues to watch, take in all that is Phil whilst he can’t be seen looking. In the flesh is different to the youtube videos, in the flesh he’s—honestly he’s better looking. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Dan!” Phil suddenly screams, slams a hand over his gob when he realises just how loud it’d been. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan just—feels a bit less of a loser. He’s spent all week thinking about Phil who, up till now, couldn’t even remember his name. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“That’s the one, all the boys scream it.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Why? Because you’re evil? Because you step on their toes?” Phil grins, coming up to the counter and giving Dan a look at those stupid wide eyes up close. It should be off putting—this great big unblinking stare—but it just reminds him of home. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, exactly.” Dan agrees, peeking up over the counter top to get a good look at Phil’s feet—which isn’t weird at all, actually. “No slippers today?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Nope, got the tube.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan frowns, takes his gaze off Phil’s feet and towards the window where—yeah, nothing. “So I can’t perv on your car today?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It was a really nice fucking car, and Dan’s been considering actually driving ever since. He has a license, just can’t afford anything that doesn’t look due to explode after five miles. Maybe he can convince Phil to let him take the Audi out for a spin, rack up a central London congestion charge unlike the world has ever seen before. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No, the car was necessity cos i couldn’t— I dunno. Take a fish on the underground? Carry five bags on pebbles? By the way, why didn’t you tell me I didn’t need five bags of pebbles?” Phil asks, eyes narrowed like he thinks the same way as Dave—thinks Dan is a complete con-artist. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I dunno! You just seemed, like, well excited. And all the bags had different colours in them. I thought you’d want to do some proper aquascaping.” Dan tries to justify, because at the time he hadn’t even thought about it. More concerned with how Phil’s arms muscles did this pleasant thing every time he picked up a bag. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I wanted to do what? Do I look like I know what that word means?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my god, c’mere.” Dan opens up the hatch that keeps the customers out from behind the counter, invites Phil right into the forbidden space. “I’m about to blow your mind.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“With the hard hard?” Phil smirks, a bit closer to Dan than he actually needs to be—all elbows touching and heartbeats probably being heard. Dan’s heartbeat, cos Phil’s normal and isn’t having a complete overreaction to this. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You remember hard hard but you don't’ remember my name? I see, at least I know where your priorities lie.” Dan’s trying to tease, but it comes out a bit—he sounds affected by the idea. Showing Phil <em>hard hard</em> is making Dan’s own brain bully him. The counter is, honestly, probably the perfect height for a demonstration. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Distracted?” Phil asks, definite twinkle in his already too pretty eyes. “What did I come round here to see?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Huh?” Dan tilts his head to the side, every bit Labrador puppy, until he remembers. “Oh! Aquascaping. I was showing you that.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan dips down below the counter for a second, brings a massive book back up with him. He’s spent hours staring at the thing before whilst bored, spent a few more hours actually carrying out all the techniques in the various tanks inside the store. No one has ever appreciated his efforts, apart from Dave. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Big.” Phil grunts, pointing at the sheer size of the thing—a proper competitor against War and Peace. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Lots to learn.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan flicks to the front page, and then he begins his teaching.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil is a good student, is quiet whilst Dan’s explaining but then has a lot of eager questions once Dan is done. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“So Ravioli could’ve been living in his own, like, Barbie dream house and i’m only just finding it out now?” Phil’s squirrelled the book over towards himself, flicking through all the pages like a kid with an Argos Catalogue looking for Christmas presents. “I still have all the pebbles, guess I will just get creative with them.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“He’ll be living in his own little funky gay paradise before you know it.” Dan grins, gives Phil the dimple experience again. “Actually, speaking of, did you know you can actually buy little rainbow flags for the tank? It’s like this sticker thing that goes on the glass.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What? Dan, you didn’t sell me one even after—our gay snakes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“We don’t have them here.” Dan shrugs, thinks maybe he should put in a bulk order if it meant Phil coming back again to collect one. “You’re going to have to go amazon.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Our evil corporate overlords?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” Dan laughs. “Exactly.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">They end up stood behind the counter for half an hour, flipping through pages and pages of stuff they’d never have the talent for. Some of the tanks are better than Dan’s actual fucking flat. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Right. That’s enough.” Dan decides, slamming the book shut. “I’ll start wishing I was a fish.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Well, then it’d make more sense that you find fish sexy.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my god.” Dan groans, shooing Phil out his space—he can’t deal with whatever this is when they’re in such close proximity. “Out. Go be a customer again.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">And Dan is expecting Phil to do the normal thing, open up the hatch, walk out from behind the counter, stand on the other side. Instead he watches Phil ignore the latch and just drop to the ground, army crawl out through the hole. Maybe Dan should’ve expected it, but he’s still left feeling a little bit flummoxed. He opens and closes his mouth thrice before he actually says words. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Mate. There’s—you could’ve, like, walked through.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil just beams, radiates all this absolute chaotic energy that Dan doesn’t know how to cope with before lunch. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Wanted to see if I could.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“And I could.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.” Dan agrees. “You could.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil’s back up on his feet now, stood behind the counter like none of what just happened happened. He looks dapper today, wrapped up in something that looks far more expensive than what he was wearing the last time. Dan can recognise brands from a mile off, spends long enough staring at them online and wishing he could just—splurge—treat himself. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Maybe if he asks Phil super nicely he’ll remove the jacket he’s wearing and just let Dan have it. Phil doesn't’ seem to care for designer labels if the lint covering it is anything to go by, or the fact he just crawled right across a strange floor. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What’re you looking at?” Phil implores, poking at his shoulder to snap him out of his daydream of owning more than that one stripey All Saints jumper. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh. Sorry.” Dan drags his eyes back up to Phil’s face, and maybe that was a mistake—briefly forgotten how pretty he was. “I like your jacket.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks, like a… spon thing. I don’t know.” Phil shrugs. “Just warm.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What a life.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I just live inside topman when left alone, spend my money on random shit that i’ll never use again.” Phil admits, for once looking a bit sheepish—something about spending habits seems to do that to people. Make them nervous. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe I should’ve used your pin number, finally someone with taste.” Dan teases. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">And he’s not expecting Phil to reach out and tug gently on the collar of his jumper, stroke it flat with his palm. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Like this. You look cozy.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan makes a stupid noise that doesn’t mean anything, just—he’s fucked. He’s fucked because it was a barely nothing touch, not even skin against skin, just palm against fucking jumper. His clothes are getting touched, and Dan’s brain is leaking out of his ears.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I am warm?” Dan asks, then immediately rescinds. “I mean— I’ve been told i’m warm by, like, people.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“People?” Phil asks, shocked. “God. I thought it would be like ghosts telling you, maybe the sexy fish.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Shutup!” Dan whines, slumps over the counter so he can hide his red face in the fold of his arms. “You bring it up so much that i’m starting to think you’re the one who finds fish sexy.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil laughs like he’s out of breath, hissing like one of the snakes in the tanks dotted around the shop. It’s cute, because of course it is, because everything Phil has done up to now has somehow managed to be an evil little hybrid of cute and hot. But he’s different in the shop to how he is in videos, in interviews. His voice a little deeper, his laugh a little freer, mannerisms not quite as awkward—though he does still put his hand in his pocket weirdly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan almost feels like he’s seeing something he’s not supposed to, this secret version of Phil who wears designer clothes but doesn’t realise how fucking good he looks in them. A version of Phil just for Dan, but it’s not just for Dan because this is likely how Phil acts in front of all his family and friends—Dan really needs to climb out of his own arsehole, stop turning his life into a rom-com. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“We’ll both agree to stop talking about sexy fish.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan just grunts into the crook of his arm, only looks up when Phil tugs gently at one of his curls.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Obviously I agree.” Dan stops with the dramatics, stands back up to full height—once again ready to role-play retail worker and customer. Apart from Phil isn’t the usual sort of customer Dan is desperate to serve so they’ll just leave, Phil is the sort of customer Dan wants to invite for lunch. “What’re you doing back so soon?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Came to see you, Danny.” Phil just says out loud, like they’re not words that weigh huge and heavy on Dan’s fragile little heart. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Kidding!” Phil giggles, and the weight drops and Dan’s heart explodes beneath it. “Need some more fish flakes.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan doesn’t reply straight away, needs a second to recover from the metaphorical punch to the gut. He just stares at Phil blankly. Notes that he has a few freckles, but nowhere near as many as Dan gets in the summer. Then he starts imagining Phil in a swimming pool— which isn’t a good tangent to be going down. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Erm—flakes?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan’s brain finally catches up the conversation, and he juts his chin forwards. “What the fuck? You literally had a years supply of fish flakes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yes…”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I ate them?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Dan screeches. “You ate them? Phil, how are you not fucking dead?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Not all of them!” Phil clarifies, waving his hands around in the air like that’ll explain everything. “I just— I tried a couple, right? Cos I thought I wanna know what Ravioli has to eat, like.. if it’s good?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan narrows his eyes, Phil immediately gets that he needs to explain himself a little bit more. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“So I tried a couple and they’re bad, really bad. So I got to googling, found some fancier ones that are made out of good ingredients. Like… taste of shrimp and everything.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah-huh.” Dan nods. “And?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“So I ordered them in bulk, thought i’d treat him to like some Waitrose level fish flakes.” Phil’s getting increasingly flustered, all this pink sitting on his cheekbones, all these big hand gestures that nearly take Dan out. “And Ravioli hated them.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Okay…”<br/><br/>“But i’d already thrown the other cheap ones away, so, I don’t have flakes at home at all.” Phil sighs, a proper i’ve gotten myself into a conundrum noise. “Apart from the shrimp ones that he hates. My fish is like… he doesn’t want a Michelin star restaurant, he just wants Mcdonalds.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my god.” Dan laughs, pats Phil’s pink little face just because he wants to touch. “You’re trying to fancy up your fish when you, yourself, only wear topman and pretend you don’t even own that Audi? Funny.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil bats his hand away, but not before he catches onto it for a second, not before Dan gets to feel how soft his skin is. There’s touch-starved, and then there is whatever Dan is.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t really drive.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You were literally driving the other day.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” Phil sucks at his bottom lip, seemingly deciding on whether or not to tell Dan that was all illegal because he doesn’t have a driving license. “I’m really bad at it, when you went back into the store I basically drove up onto the curb. I only use it if I really, really have to.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You know, if you used it more, you’d probably get better?” Dan suggests, doesn’t want to say practise makes perfect because that shouldn’t really apply to cars on the road—cars that could run people over. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil shakes his head violently. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No?” Dan asks. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No. I went through this phase when I first got that car of trying to use it as much as possible, because it was well expensive, and the more I drove the worse I got.” Phil doesn’t sound upset about it, more like he’s accepted defeat.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, well, maybe you should just give the car to me and I can be your personal chauffeur.” Dan jokes, apart from part of him really isn’t joking because 1. Audi, 2. Spending more time with Phil, 3. Phil inside an Audi. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ew.” Phil’s nose wrinkles. “No. I can’t—don’t like all that proper celebrity stuff. I know i’d be paying them, but I still feel so bad being like oh…” Phil puts on a voice, something posher, “drive me to the store, I need to buy my caviar, Charles.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan softens, wonders if Phil’s the only celebrity on earth to not have an ego. “Ok, then just let me drive the car for no reason?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe.” Phil smiles as he rocks back on his heels, buries his nose in the collar of the jacket he’s wearing. It’s all very pretty to look at, makes Dan feel like he’s staring at live art. Just something about Phil’s entire being that pushes all of Dan’s buttons. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan stares for too long, clears his throat after a minute has passed—hopes his face isn’t too red—tries to pretend he isn’t a bit gone for someone he’s only met twice. “Anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Anyway.” Phil repeats. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Fish flakes?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oooo, yeah. The actual thing I came in here for.” Phil drops back down onto his toes, completely ungracefully. And that’s probably what’s doing it for Dan. How Phil isn’t, doesn’t pretend to be, this perfect untouchable thing. “Be careful, though, i’m really hungry so I might have to resort to eating them.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan doesn’t miss a beat, just blurts the first thing that comes to mind—the thing that’s been on his mind for the last hour. “Lunch?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I mean, yeah, lunch is good for when you’re hungry.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Phil, i just— meant, erm.” Dan coughs into his elbow, hopes it clears up all the nervous energy, and tries again. “I was about to run out and get lunch, if you want to come?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.” Phil’s smile lights up his entire face. “I’d love to, yeah.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan was thinking something like that little cafe on the end of the street, even Mcdonalds which has started full on catering for the vegans. It’s no longer about that dodgy looking salad shoved into a cup that’s used for smoothies. It’s about the veggie fingers, about longingly staring at the milkshakes that he still can’t actually drink. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">But Phil has a suggestion, and Dan is so eager to please that he doesn’t even think about objecting. And that’s Dan now finds himself here, in a too fancy restaurant that he almost suggests they leave because he thinks it’ll be a full day’s wages.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil just gives him a look, a look that suggests Dan is stupid for even thinking about the prices on the menu. “It’s my treat, for matching me up with the sexiest fish.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t talk about that here.” Dan chides, gesturing around the room at all the decadence. “And i’m—no. You have to let me pay you back cos I think the starter alone is fifty quid.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It’s a proper, proper restaurant. A restaurant you’d take someone to for a fancy business meeting, or on a date if you were really trying to impress them. Dan’s sitting in a velvet chair that probably costs more than two months rent. There are chandeliers. There’s waiters in the whole tuxedo and bow tie get up. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan feels out of place, sat here sweater pawing his jumper sleeves, wearing a tiny hoop earring made out of something that’s not even real gold. Phil… fits. He’s got the sharp angled face, the thousand pound jacket the—he’s playing footsie with Dan beneath the table. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oi. Oh my god.” Dan giggles. And it comforts him more than it should to know Phil looks the part, but certainly i<em>sn’t</em> the part. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">They’re playing footsie in a restaurant that definitely has a Michelin star, or two. Gordon Ramsey has probably sat in here and actually <em>enjoyed </em>the food. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Phil asks, even though he knows exactly <em>what. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It’s as they’re bickering back and forth about table manners that it happens. One of those waiters comes over with some extra table service, with a basket of bread and a singular flower in clear glass vase. Dan’s watched enough TV to know what’s about to happen next, but he isn’t quick enough to stop the slow-motion trainwreck. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Flower for the table?” They ask.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No.” Dan says, at the exact time Phil says<em> yes. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"><em>“</em>Oh? Or not—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No! No, it’s fine.” Dan rushes to clarify, pushing his glass away to make room. “Sorry. It’s fine.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">So now they have a flower in the middle of the table, now Dan has to cope with everyone around them assuming this is a date when he wishes it was a date. But it isn’t a date, because it’s just lunch. It doesn’t matter if Phil was the one to say yes to the flower, that’s probably just him being overly polite. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Are you ready to order?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Not yet, thanks.” Dan smiles, pretends to look at the menu all though all he can think about is Phil saying <em>yes. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The waiter leaves them to it, and for the first time it feels a bit awkward. Phil’s stopped with the footsie, and Dan has forgotten how to read. He’s just staring at all the words and trying to make them mean something. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Dan?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah?” Dan lowers the menu from where it’s covering his entire face, hopes he doesn't look quite as rabbit in the headlights as he feels. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What’re you getting?” Phil asks, seeming to have made his decision. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Erm—whatever you’re having. I don’t know, you seem to know what’s good.” Dan flaps the menu around like a fan, for no reason, for… distraction. “So, what’re we having?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I dunno, you might be allergic.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh—fuck, right. Actually i’m a vegan, so.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ah.” Phil nods, opening his menu back up just so he can point out the vegan section for Dan—it’s all the way at the bottom. “I think that’s good.” He points at something, but Dan still can’t read.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Then i’ll have that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It gets decidedly less awkward once the food actually arrives, because the food is fucking sexy and Dan’s groaning around his fork in a way that’s probably going to end up getting them kicked out. But it breaks this weird tension they have going on, makes Phil giggle and kick at Dan’s shin in attempt to shut him up. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You’re—menace, Dan.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan just shrugs, innocent despite it all. “Did you not know i’m just, like, a series of noises wearing a hat?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not even wearing a hat.” Phil argues, but he’s smiling so Dan has basically won—won whatever this is. He doesn’t actually know. Just won Phil.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“The hat is metaphorical.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">And it’s probably too easy to be stupid around Phil, shouldn’t be because they barely know each other and stranger danger—and Dan doesn’t care. He just feels comfortable to be a complete weirdo, and he thinks he’d like to cling on to that for a little while. Can’t remember the last time he just was fully himself, nothing blocked off out of fear. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ah.” Phil nods. “Of course. My pants are metaphorical.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What does that even mean?” Dan screeches, and he’s been nothing but bad etiquette in this restaurant up to now. “You are wearing pants, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“That’s for me to know.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, and i’m the menace?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” Phil smirks. “Exactly. Now be quiet and eat your lunch.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It—does something. Makes Dan think maybe he has a public humiliation kink he hadn't known about, or maybe just a kink for pretty men telling him to behave himself. Whatever it is, it works. Dan stops with the only fans performance and eats. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What time do you to be back?” Phil asks after two minutes of silence—comfortable silence.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I have an hour for lunch, not that Dave will actually like come and check up on me.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Who’s Dave?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“My manager.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Is he hot?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Phil!” Dan chokes on a forkful of something, has to bang his own chest to try and dislodge a fucking salad leaf. “He’s, like, fifty.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Fifty year olds can be hot.” Phil protests. “Like—Daniel Craig is… interesting.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Well.” Dan sighs. “Sorry i’m not him.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, shutup. You’re a better Daniel.” Phil tacks on, all sincere. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Have you like—ever met him? Or anyone super famous? Any super famous people you wanna fuck?” Dan doesn’t mean the last mean, or at least hadn’t meant it to come out. “Sorry—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil shakes his head, a proper one of disapproval, but it’s a complete act because one second later Phil is reading out a list of famous hot people he’s shaken hands with. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“But it’s—I dunno, Hollywood is like way gayer than everyone thinks.” Phil’s forgotten his own food in favour of gossiping, leaning in across the table—all conspiratorial. “Like, I could tell you some things if I knew it wouldn’t result in a literal lawsuit. Or… no. Don’t wanna out people.” Phil sighs, leaning back in his seat.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No, I agree. You don’t want to do that.” Dan agrees, because it’s really none of his business. “But have you ever had a Hollywood affair? No names, obvs.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I…” Phil shrugs, lips pursed because he’s trying desperate not to smile— to give anything away. “Maybe. Just once. They’re openly gay, so, like. It could’ve maybe been something, but their ego was so big and my hands were too small to keep up with stroking it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Phil!” Dan manages to say, amongst all the laughter trying to claw up out of him. “Trying my very hardest to act like I belong here, don’t make me think about small hands stroking things.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil smiles into his food, for some reason holding the plate aloft because he’s concerned about spilling it—or something<em>. It’s all juice, Dan, like gravy…i’ll drop it. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">They eat, they get dessert. Phil says dessert is a completely separate thing, requires a completely separate stomach—and he’s been born with the gift of two. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Sooo.” Dan starts. “Watched one of your movies the other day.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh?” Phil asks, quietly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“We don’t have to talk about it.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No, no.” Phil waves his wine glass around, because dessert happened along with a couple of glasses. “It’s fine, just—I know you’re fine. Some people want gossip about me, not the movies. Go ahead.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe I want gossip on you.” Dan’s teasing, mostly. Maybe he wants the gossip. Maybe he wants to know if Phil has some guy at home, and Dan’s just setting himself up for heartbreak. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Be careful.” Phil smiles, a bit of an edge to it—bit of a feeling of <em>i’ve made this mistake in the past. </em>“I could go around telling everyone that you’re sexually attracted to fish.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Jesus.” Dan barks out a laugh, makes everyone around him turn and stare. He needs to remember where he is, who he’s with—probably people in here that actually recognise Phil. “I really regret ever saying that.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What movie?” Phil asks, changing the subject from Dan’s—pain. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I was going to say the gay one, but I think that’s a running theme in all your movies from… googling.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, well, turns out if you add in a massive plot that distracts people from the gay… Hollywood doesn’t mind.” Phil says sardonically, wine sloshing around in the wine glass he’s refusing to put down. Dan feels like he’s hit an accidental nerve, wishes he could backtrack. “One day I can put down a movie that’s just gay, nothing with god, I don’t know, aliens. And they’ll just take it, won’t ask me why the characters have to be gay.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ah.” Dan frowns, fingers nervously picking at the fancy tablecloth. “That’s shit, why does there have to be a why? They’re just gay, get over it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry—sorry.” Phil sighs, finally placing the glass down. “It’s not your fault. I just pitched something yesterday that was apparently too… fuck—I mean, too diverse. Like how can something be too diverse? Have they ever gone outside? They want changes, i’m refusing to budge. It’s not a good time.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan lets out a low whistle, and it makes Phil smile—just a bit. “Going to single handedly fight all the old white straight blokes in Hollywood?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Something like that.” Phil lifts a shoulder in a delicate little shrug, keeps it up at his ear for a beat too long. “Anyway, what did you think of the one you watched?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Good!” Dan rushes to sing its praises, to gush about just how much it had made him feel—how he wishes he had movies like that to watch that whilst growing up. “It was—yeah, you know. I read the reviews after. Everyone thinks it’s great.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I’m glad.” Phil downs the rest of his wine, looks half ready to dive straight into another. “How’s Ravioli?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh—sorry. I meant Bert, I literally have Ravioli.” Phil giggles, hides his smile behind in his hand in a way Dan wishes he wouldn’t. It’s probably something taught, something managers have taught him to do. “How’s he?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Bert is fine. Just being a snake, you know.” Dan’s more interested about the fish he’d sold. “How is he? The little red dude.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Good! I think he’ll feel a lot better once I bust out all the Aquascaping tips, give him a castle to rule.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Is he home alone?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"><br/><br/>“What?” Phil asks, raises an eyebrow—or more raises his entire face. “Are you asking if I hired a fish babysitter?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">No, Dan isn’t asking that. He’s more trying to ask if Phil’s single, if there’s another man at home looking after the fish—looking after Phil. And it’s probably a bit weird, a bit too much, but Dan’s desperate to know if he has even a one percent chance at turning this into an actual date. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No… I meant, do you live with—someone?” Dan asks. Smooth, like a fucking gravel path.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil gets it, or at least the smirk that replaces the smile seems to portray that he gets it. “No. I live alone, well, alone with a fish.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh… cool.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Cool.” Phil repeats. “What about you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Nope. Alone with a chameleon.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Phil demands, voice higher pitched than he’s heard it all night. “You didn’t tell me that before.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I am telling you now. I have a pet chameleon, he’s called Karma, he only likes me.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Really?” Phil asks, sceptical.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, literally. No one else can go near him or he starts going wild with his little claw hands. We had so many people interested in buying him… but no.” Dan laughs, remembering the time he full on refused to come out of his little cave and even say hello. “My manager eventually just told me to take him home.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm.” Phil takes a pause, considering. “I bet he’d like me.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Offt, big assumption. He’s a little green menace.” Dan says, but he can’t help but say it fondly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> “Right.” Another pause, followed by, “wait! Karma? Like the song? The…” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">And Phil sings, out-loud, in the middle of the fanciest restaurant Dan has even been inside.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Sooo.” They’re a little, teensy bit drunk. The one glass had turned into three. The one hour lunch break into more of a ninety minute lunch break.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Soooo.” Phil repeats, bursting into laughter too loud for the room to possibly contain. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“God. I should—i’m gonna get fired, probably.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"><br/>“Na, i’ll tell Dave you were just keeping a customer happy.” Phil does this weird wavy hand thing, trying to catch the attention of a passing waiter. “That always makes me feel so rude, but dunno how else to get the bill.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">They both make a grab at it when it’s laid down on the table, and it’s Dan who manages to get it first. His eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he sees the total. Fuck a days wages, it’s closer to two. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Phil—I can’t, we’ll go halves.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No, no.” Phil’s already got his bank card out. “I said my treat.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“But—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No.” Phil says, harsher this time. It shuts Dan up, makes him slump back into the velvet. “You can— next time.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It takes Dan a second, but when he finally realises what’s been said his heart nearly makes a run for it—out his chest and into Phil’s hands. “Next time?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” Phil smiles. “I hope so.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil walks him back to the shop, even though there’s no reason for it. Even though he got his fish flakes before they left for lunch. But who’s Dan to object, who’s Dan to say no to a pretty guy walking him home—or back to work. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Have you worked here for a long time?” Phil asks, stopping to hold open the door. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, like, five years now.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“How old are you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Twenty-nine. I— dropped out of uni, sort of flapped around for a few years then ended up here.” Dan’s spilling his life for no reason, because he likes Phil—because he’s not quite what you’d call sober. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Do you like it?” Phil turns the little sign over to open, and it’s a stupid thing that makes Dan want to see him again—more, lots. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” Dan nods. “I do, and I think people always say oh you should be aiming for better. But I like it here. I like looking after all the animals, making sure they actually get to a good home.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Then—other people can shutup.” Phil sounds sincere, looks it too when he turns around to face Dan. “People are too involved in others peoples lives. It’s yours, so.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“It’s mine, yeah.” Dan—he wants to hug him. He wants to tell Phil thanks, that he’s the first person to ever say something like that to him. “Bert might hate me but, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you, he’s just playing hard to get.” Phil huffs out a laugh, even though Dan can tell he wants to properly giggle at his own joke. “Oh! before I forget, could I take the book home for a couple days? Just to make sure i’m doing stuff right?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“God, no, my boss will literally kill me. He’s obsessed with the thing.” He isn’t, Dan just needs an excuse for what he is about to say next. “You could… take my number? You know for, like, aquascaping tips. I’ve got quite a bit of experience.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Alright.” Phil holds out his phone, Dan doesn’t think about the electricity when their fingers brush.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Hi! opinions… is this too many rocks?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It’s too many rocks if u can no longer see Ravioli</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Hmm.. ok. I will just take a few rocks out.</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">How long has it been? A week? And so far you’ve built one castle, and nearly suffocated Ravioli with shiny pebbles</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>HEY! i’m trying my best, you’re supposed to be my positive reinforcement</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">oh? what’s the reinforcement?</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> <b>;)</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oi, Daniel, my soon to be ex-employee. What exactly are you doing over there?” Dave asks. He’s actually popped into today for longer than a minute, a few more fish to put into the various tanks.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing, nothing.” Dan shoves his phone into his pocket, ignores the ways it’s vibrating against his arse with a definite quadruple text. It’s just—it’s been a week of nothing but staring down at his phone.Phil’s obsessed with sending Ravioli updates, and Dan is just obsessed with Phil.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah. Nothing.” And when Dan actually turns to look at his manager, Dave’s got the grin of a cheshire cat. “Something to do with the new Ravioli owner?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No.” And even to Dan it sounds like a lie. “Shutup. I’m just helping him sort of his tank.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Sure.” Dave smiles. “His tank. You’ve been attached to that phone all morning, you’re lucky we’ve not actually had any customers.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I know to put my phone away when customers are in.” Dan whines. “Give me some credit, i’ve been here for a five years.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah. You’re a good employee, when you’re not flirting with our clientele.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dave’s abandoned the fish, and for some reason he’s now pulling Bert out of his tank—probably just to bully Dan.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You know, I think he does like you. He just doesn’t want you to know he likes you, because you’re needy?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Needy?” Dan splutters, going all red in the face. It’s enough for himself to know, but for his manage to notice—that’s something else. “I am not needy, I just—whatever. I just want everyone to like me, and everyone also includes every creature inside this shop.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dave’s got Bert looped around his neck like a goddamn scarf, one that’s hissing Dan’s way.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“He loves ya, just jealous you took Karma home instead of him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not my fault Karma basically played dead if anyone else looked at him.” Dan laughs, leaving his place behind the counter to give Bert a little pat. He seems to behave a bit more when Dave is around, not so obvious about his hatred.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“How is he?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Good, good. Hangs out with my every night to watch whatever bullshit movie I pull up on netflix.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“God, you really do need this Phil bloke.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dave’s married, and happily so. Takes pity on Dan’s lack of love life, tries to set him up with his friends even though they’re a solid twenty years older. Maybe Dan should say he’s seeing Phil, just to placate Dave, just to put the breaks on being matched with forty-nine year old Alan.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“We went to lunch the other day. I was gonna suggest Rose’s on the corner, you know with the tea and small sandwiches that I—like consider fancy, fancy finger sandwiches?” Dan’s trying to be conversational about it all, rather than spill all the little details like he wants to. Deep down just wants someone else to tell him if it sounded like a date, or not.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He’s gone over and over it in his own head all week. He doesn’t know if the restaurant being fancy makes it more of a date, or not. Can’t work out if the flower was a polite flower. Can’t work out if mildly flirting via text all week means something.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.” Dave’s properly interested now. “A lunch date? Is that why the till wasn’t signed into for thirty minutes after your lunch hour, hm? You were out on the town?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ah.” Dan swallows down the lump in his throat, the lump of fucking fear. “You could see that?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine, I was here. I suppose I can work in my own shop if my employee is out living his life.” Dave reassures.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry, just got carried away.” Dan can’t meet Dave’s gaze, just distracts himself by giving Bert chin scratches. “It had literal Michelin stars, and the bill cost more than— than you give me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Offt.” Dave laughs, and he’s got that proper deep sort of belly laugh one you can’t help but join with. “You saying I underpay you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No.” Dan chuckles. “I think you’re very fair, considering I’ve spent all morning on my phone.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“So he admits it.” Dave says, popping Bert back in his tank, then he shoos Dan into the back room—Dan forgets to duck and smacks himself on the doorframe.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ow.” Dan rubs at his forehead as he plonks down in one of the well used chairs, it probably needs replacing but it’s so comfy—so well attuned to Dan’s body—that he can’t bring himself to give it up.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Go on.” Dave joins him. “Tell me all. Anything you need me to do? Need some time off so you can go out? You’ve barely used any holiday this year.” Dave is talking a mile a minute, sounds more invested in all of this than Dan himself.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No, no.” Dan waves his hand about, going for something dismissive but just—flailing. “It’s fine, he’s busy in the day.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, alright.” Dave leans forwards on his elbows, chin in his hands—properly thinking. “You like him?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I—yeah.” Dan admits, for the first time out loud. “I do, actually. He’s weird, funny, really—he’s my type. He’s kind as well, really kind. I don’t know. I just feel all… excited whenever he texts me. Every time the bell above the door goes, I want it to be him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, god. I want it to be him if he’s going to spend that much here every time.” Dave sounds wistful, remembering that massive receipt—Dan’s decided he’s definitely got it framed somewhere.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Haha.” Dan deadpans, but he can’t help but giggle when Dave pulls out the puppy-dog eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Please bring your boyfriend into my shop to spend all his money.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You know, sometimes I think you’re actually twelve years old.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, be careful, still your boss no matter how cool and lenient I am.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” Dan nods his head, doesn’t roll his eyes even though he wants to. Even though Dan’s the opposite of a model employee, and Dave hasn’t gotten rid of him yet. “You’re still my boss.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Right.” Dave pushes his chair back, and the noise it makes against the tile makes Dan wince. “I’m going to go check on the till, needs an update. You can sit back here and make me a cup of tea, whilst definitely not checking your texts.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>oh.</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>sorry for winking</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>was that a lot?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>is winking rude?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>hey, dan, do you think Ravioli knows i’m his dad?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">my manager decided it was time for a heart to heart</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>should I… be jealous?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">he’s fifty, and married.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>ah, that’s fine then</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">i told you he was fifty the other day! is it in one ear and out the other with you?</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>erm</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>do you think Ravioli knows i’m his dad?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">he probably wonders why this weird alien bloke has kidnapped him away from the curly haired amazing one</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>:( no!</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Don't say that even as a joke, cos then i’ll feel really bad.</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">fine, fine. yeah he knows you’re his dad</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Dan!” He hears Dave shout. “I don’t think making a cup of tea actually takes that long!”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Ek! Sorry. Gotta go do actual work. give me Ravioli updates will reply later</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>yes sir.</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dave leaves after he’s updated the till, leaves Dan alone with his thoughts and the urge to text Phil back. But he’s not going to, he’s going to actually do what he’s paid to do. He’s going to clean the tanks, going to convince anyone who walks in that they definitely need a fish—or a bitchy snake.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It’s fun, honestly, once he gets into it. He likes trying to convince all the lizards to budge over, likes rearranging the fish tanks so they look prettier. He still loves it here, and Phil was right—it’s his life.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">At one point someone comes in and shows genuine interest in Bert, and Dan doesn’t know why he hates it so much. He should be thrilled about potentially getting rid of his arch enemy, but he isn’t. Walking in everyday and the tank being empty would be odd.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He breaks then, because he needs a second opinion.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">do u think it’s possible to get attached to a snake that hates you?</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>ooooo, you want Bert so bad</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Shutup, that sounds … dodgy </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>how long has he been in there?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">God.. three years now, maybe even longer. a literal lifetime</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Then obviously yeah that’s normal. you’re used to him just being there, staring at you evilly… but with love.</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Hm</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It’s just as Dan is about to close up that he hears the tinkle of the bell, and this time he doesn’t even think about it being Phil because he’s gotten his hopes up one too many times today. It’s probably just someone running in last minute for some food, or to steal Bert out from under him.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Hi.” And—yeah. He knows that voice. Dan’s heart soars, and he rushes to make sure his curls aren’t a complete disaster after having sweated so much from all his heavy lifting—from actually doing his job. “Only me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I thought you were at work?” Dan asks, leaning nonchalantly against the counter—like he hadn’t just had a manic rush around, tried desperately to make himself look better than he usually does. Not that he usually looks good, or anything, just today he looked particularly like a scruffy poodle.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, same, but I got off early. My last interview got cancelled because the hotel it was supposed to be in like—set on fire?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.” Dan murmurs. “Nice to know you cause destruction wherever you go.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Hey!” Phil whines, joining Dan at the front of the shop. He looks—god, really fucking pretty today. Obvious he’s got a bit of something on his face for the camera lights, obvious his manager had made him play dress up. His jeans are tight fitting, the shirt he’s got on short-sleeved and really showing off his arms. Dan needs to stop staring, act like a normal human for once. It’s just hard to act composed around Phil, hard when he just wants to kiss that perfect cupids bow so much.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry.” Dan smiles, but he isn’t. “Mean of me. You actually only dropped one bag of stones when you were in here last.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“That was the bags fault for being so weak.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah.” Dan laughs, comes out of his little hobbit hole so he can go and do what he was originally planning. Lock up the shop. “Whatcha doing here anyway? Not that—I mean, it’s nice to see you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan can feel Phil’s gaze on him, and it sends a thrill through his entire body—makes him think maybe he isn’t the only one feeling something. And it is something, because no-one else has ever quite made Dan feel so much so quickly. He jumps for his phone every time it lights up, he hopes every customer is Phil, he’s admitted it all to Dave. It’s got to be a thing.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I was just popping in, thought I could help you with your Bert decision.” Phil smiles, and it’s soft and—fond. It’s got to be fond, because that’s not a Phil on camera smile. “But if you’re shut, I can go?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No, don’t.” Dan answers too quickly, and the fond smile Phil was wearing turns into something more amused.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, I won’t go.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Good.” Dan rushes over to Bert’s tank, tries to turn this into something that’s not quite so embarrassing for himself—so obvious. “You coming over, then? This is a proper big decision for me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He can hear footsteps, loud at first and then they soften when the tile turns to carpet.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Hey.” Phil crouches down beside him. It’s dark outside now, and Dan had turned most of the lights off in the store in preparation for closing. The only source of anything is coming from the tanks, illuminating all the contours of Phil’s face. All Dan can think about is how beautiful he is.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You’re supposed to be looking at Bert.” Phil says, and from this angle all Dan can see is the quirk of his lips.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I am.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh?” Phil chuckles. “Are you saying i’m a snake?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” Dan says, a hint of cheek laced in his tone. “I am, you’re long enough to be one.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I was gonna say something inappropriate then.” Phil starts, pauses to think about it for a second. “But I won’t, you’re at work so I have to behave.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Tease.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">And Dan knows it’s one of those moments that he’ll remember, for no reason in particular. Just something about how warm it’s making him feel, how content he is. He’ll think about it one day, entirely at random, it’ll just pop into his brain when he think he’s complete forgotten about it. Just the two of them here, silly and stupid in the middle of the store.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Been told that before.” Phil laughs, tongue trapped between his teeth—cute, disarmingly so. “All those… Hollywood men.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You’re one step away from just being a complete name dropper, you know.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Lean in.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Dan asks, all alarmed—all wide eyes, voice too high.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“C’mere.” Phil says again, calm, composed— the opposite of everything Dan is right now.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">But even with his thoughts going a million miles a minute, Dan can’t refuse that. Can’t refuse the way Phil looks at him when he turns around. So he leans in, and it’s not what he’s expecting at all—not what he’d hoped for.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil just instead delicately cups the side of his head, leans in and whispers gently into Dan’s ear.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off!” Dan screeches. “You did not sleep with him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Might’ve.” Phil smirks, gets all bashful when Dan teases him about it. Buries his face away as much as possible, hidden behind the collar of his, again, designer coat.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What a devil.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t tell anyone, you’ll get me booted out of Hollywood.” Phil drops from his crouch, settles onto his knees. “So, Bert.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“We’re talking about that more at one point you know.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I said… So, Bert?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm, fine, Bert.” Dan joins Phil, drops properly to the ground, because the position was making his calves ache and now he no longer has to pretend that he’s fitter than he is—Phil’s already given up. “How do you solve a problem like Bert?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What sort of snake is he?” Phil asks, peering into the tank. Bert’s surprisingly up at the end Dan is, being his friend for once. Dan wonder if he knows, knows that he was almost taken home by someone else today. But then that’s probably just the loser in him talking, the loser who desperately wants Bert to live in his house all of a sudden.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“He’s a hognose.” Dan replies. “Notice how it like goes up there?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh! Yeah— hm, cute.” Phil gently taps on the glass to get Bert’s attention. “He’s looking at me like he wants me to convince you to adopt him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sure he is, Phil, that’s not just a figment of your imagination.” Dan laughs, but he’s surprised at how much he’s willing to believe it. “I dunno if i’d even have room for him, my apartment is on the smaller side. I’ve already got a little green guy living with me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Karma?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, you remember.” Dan smiles, because it means a lot. Because people tend to forget, because people often don’t listen to Dan when he speaks—find him too loud, too much. “Karma, that’s him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Of course I remembered, it’s a good name. Good song.” Phil reaches out to grab Dan’s shoulder, uses it as leverage to stand back up. The touch feels like more than it should.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You going?” Dan asks, hopes it doesn’t sound too desperate— too upset. He could’ve lived in this odd little moment forever. “I should probably not trap customers in the dark in my shop, huh?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ah.” Phil’s stood above him now, and even from this awful angle Dan’s still got a thing for him. “I was hoping I was more than just a customer by this point, we’ve gotten drunk together.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“True.” Dan laughs. And then he just goes for it, stretches out his arm, tries to give Phil his hand, feels his heart slam against his ribcage when Phil actually reaches out for it. Their fingers slot together perfectly, and Dan has to pretend this was all just so he could be pulled up to his feet—not just because he wanted to know what it was like to hold Phil’s hand. “Friend or not, I still probably shouldn’t be holding you hostage.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I dunno, I think I came in here voluntarily.” Phil doesn’t let go once Dan’s stood back up, clings for longer than necessary. When he finally, finally does let go Dan feels the loss more keenly than anything else. “And not leaving, just had really bad pins and needles sat like that.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It makes Dan happy. Makes him fucking elated, actually. That Phil has had a long day, and is still willing to spend his free time in here. In a dark store, no entertainment, no nothing, just Dan. And if Dan had the option he’d stay here for hours, but he’s got one responsibility back at home that wouldn’t be happy with that.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I might have to free you, gotta go feed that little guy that lives in my house rent free.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil’s frowning, at least Dan thinks he is, at least Dan wants him to be. “Karma, yeah? Stealing you away from our weird dark shop time?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“He’s demanding, gets very hungry this time of day. If I break him out of his routine he’ll probably stab me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil giggles at the that, bumps their shoulders together—so touchy tonight, so fucking touchy. “Do you think I could meet him?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Dan asks. “Karma?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil insists on a taxi back, Dan argues with him for a second about the fact he’s, once again, left the Audi to rot away. Phil gets all bashful about the whole thing, all insistent about how he can’t drive and he doesn’t want to accidentally kill Dan by driving them into a river—which is nice.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">But sitting in the backseat, squished up against Phil’s body, is doing all sorts to Dan. It’s just his luck that he landed himself in a car designed for literal hobbits. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, doesn’t know where to look, keeps wanting to spread his legs but what if Phil thinks he’s a dickhead for it? He’s probably overthinking, they’re literally just sat down.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Your knee is so bouncy.” Phil notes, after about two minutes of Dan constantly doing the motion. Then Phil does something that makes it all worse, reaches out to press his hand there, to cover the rip in Dan’s jean with his palm. It’s skin on skin action, in the least explicit way possible—but it’s still sending Dan into overdrive. “Gonna cramp.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Is—don’t think that’s a thing, Phil.” Dan would laugh, but his knee is on fire.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Isn’t it?” Phil asks, and his thumb strokes over Dan’s skin once before Phil removes himself entirely. “How far away do you live?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Erm—“ Dan starts, but then he realises he doesn’t actually have an answer, doesn’t know how far they’ve come. He peers out of the window, tries to recognise something amongst all the darkness. “Not far.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It’s after Dan’s spoken that he spots the weird gold letterbox on the corner, and at least he wasn’t lying—they really aren’t far. Dan doesn’t really know how to handle the logistics of Phil in his flat, everywhere else had seemed like neutral ground up to now. In his own home, he’s far more likely to make a fool out of himself. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Do you think he’ll like me?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Karma?” Dan asks, turning his attention away from the buildings they’re passing by, his gaze back on Phil. “Dunno, he’s very tetchy.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Like his owner, then.” Phil teases, and Dan should probably at least pretend to act offended. But he can’t, because he isn’t, because it’s just ripped him out of all the bad going on in his head. Made him realise it’s really not as big a deal as he’s making out. He feels like he can breathe again, and his knee goes steady.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve been nice to you, haven’t I? Carried all that shit to your boot and everything.” Dan doesn’t add on that it was for selfish reasons, because he wanted to keep talking to Phil—and maybe stare at his car.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“If you hadn’t ripped me off, sold me way more pebbles than like—I don’t know, enough pebbles to fill the ocean. Then I wouldn’t have needed your help, actually.” Phil looks amused by it all though, can’t quite keep the smile off his face long enough to even keep up the pretence of being angry.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Alright.” Dan agrees, but then, “how else would you have found out about your, like, secret love of aquascaping?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Damn.” Phil laughs. “Shouldn’t have sent you those three thousand photos of Ravioli’s tank.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It’s only a ten minute journey, but Dan practically dives out of the taxi when it reaches his flat. He needs to compose himself, for a second, to pretend like his crush isn’t about to perceive him on a grand scale. A home can say a lot about a person, and Dan can only hope it tells Phil good things.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I suppose i’ll pay for that one then.” He hears Phil shout, then he hears the beeping of a card machine.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Shit, sorry. I’ll pay you back.” Dan promises.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine.” Phil joins him on the pavement, stood closer than really necessary. “Can I guess?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Hm?” Dan asks, no idea what’s going on, what Phil could possibly be making a game out of—Dan’s feelings? “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What apartment is yours.” Phil says.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh—I guess, if you want. Knock yourself out.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil’s eyes dart from window to window, pausing on certain ones. Dan thinks he’s going to guess wrong at least three times, then Phil always seems to decide against it. But when Phil’s eyes settle on the window on the left, three floors up, he makes up his mind.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“That one?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What one?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“That one!” Phil points up, squinting his eyes like that helps.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm.” Dan tips his head. “Why that one?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You have a little cactus next to the till at work, and that one in the window is like—definitely it’s brother.” Phil explains. “And the gay sticker, obviously the gay sticker.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Got me.” Dan laughs. “It’s just me, my cactus, and my gay sticker. Weird family, but—you know.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“And Karma.” Phil says.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“God, yeah, wow, i’m an evil pet owner.” Dan zips up his jacket, then begins his trudge up the path. “Come on, come see him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The elevator is broken, which is hardly surprising. It’s only worked once since Dan moved in, and that ended in someone getting trapped. Terrible for them, great for Dan who got to ogle a few fit firefighters.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh. My legs are so heavy, they are like tree trunks. I can’t walk. I have no legs.” Phil is behind him, and with every flight of stairs there’s a new drama.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Last floor it was that you had no feet.” Dan laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Well, that’s—obvious if I have no legs I have no feet, too. Like—I’m not just—it’s not pelvis, then feet.” Phil explains, sounds proper serious about it.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“That’s… interesting.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You should carry me.” Phil’s says, and he’s stomping now—which probably takes more effort than just walking normally. “How many more flights?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“God, you Hollywood people.” Dan laughs, half wants to walk up a couple more flights for no reason—just to be annoying—but they’re on his floor. “Here. We’re here. I’ll go run you—you know one of those salt baths? Soothe your aching non-legs and floating feet.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You trying to get me naked in your flat?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Shutup, god, nightmare.” Dan’s glad he’s currently facing the other way, knows his cheeks are on fire. “Here we are, the apartment of a gay cactus.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil steps in before him, leaves Dan holding open the door. And it’s not at all shocking, that Phil looks right stood in his hallway. He’s going to have to stop all these thoughts, all these future plans he keeps imagining in which Phil sticks around.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I would say sorry about the mess, but—na, cos then you might expect me to tidy up if you ever come over again.” Dan shuts the door, closes out his usual life so he can indulge in this one. In this made up fantasy of Phil being in Dan’s flat for him, and not just to see Karma. Phil would probably run away screaming if he knew all the thoughts in Dan’s brain, knew how quickly all this having a crush stuff was progressing.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Think Karma is going to love me that much? That i’ll have to come back?” Phil asks, turns when he reaches the living room and—fuck, he just really does fit. Dan could imagine coming home every night to him just here. And that’s intense, that’s too much, for having known someone for only three weeks. But maybe that’s what love at first sight is. Maybe that's what knowing is.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Drink?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Na, i’m good, thanks.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Food?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"><br/>
<br/>
“No.” Phil laughs. “I ate too much at the buffet earlier, and it was like- dairy heavy.. and i’m, yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You’re what?” Dan asks.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Lactose intolerant.” Phil admits, hands awkwardly jammed in his pockets—just like the first time they’d met. “So I should probably go home soon.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Are you talking about shitting your pants?” Dan asks, pursing his lips to try and stop all the laugher from bubbling up out of him.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No!” Phil shouts, then quieter. “No. Yes? God, stop it. I’m not.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, well.” Dan smirks, takes the few steps between them. “The bathroom is the first on the right, if you need it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">And it’s nice, for a change, to see Phil turn red. “Why is it always guys that look like you.” Phil mutters, barely audible—but Dan had caught it.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing, nothing.” Phil’s dismissive hand wave makes a reappearance. “Show me the green boy.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan choses to ignore it for now, for his own good, because he’ll overthink and fantasise—even more so than he already is. “This way, but don’t act too offended when he tries to eat you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He leads Phil across the room, until they’re both stood in front of a tank that’s smaller than the ones in the store. It only has to house one Chameleon, and Dan had never thought about trying to get him a friend—too temperamental. He looks as he always looks, wide-eyed and ready for a fight.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Sooo.” Dan whistles, low and for no reason. “This is him. Karma, Phil. Phil, Karma. You both have that unnerving blink thing going on.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil doesn’t dignify that with anything but a quick, sharp glare. “Like the one out of Tangled.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Pascal?” Dan asks, and, yeah—actually.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan watches as Phil squats, because that’s all they seem to do—sit in front of tanks together—staring at animals that probably want them to leave. It’s different here, though, when it’s in Dan’s apartment, when it’s Dan’s animal. He half finds himself wanting to beg Karma to behave, to give Phil a reason to come back.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Hi.” Phil whispers, ring finger pressed against the glass. “You’re very handsome.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Are you trying to woo him?” Dan laughs, then it dies in his throat when it actually works. When Karma slowly traverses the tank just to be in Phil’s presence—like owner like chameleon.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Working, isn’t it?” Phil sounds smug, and he has every right to be. Dan had practically stood there and waxed poetic about how he’s the only one Karma likes, how no one else can even look at him without being turned to stone.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan just grunts out some form of agreement, decides he has to know just how far this goes. He slides open the lid of the tank, and gently urges Phil to stand up so he can test out his theory.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Phil asks, mildly confused. “We were getting along!”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I know, I know.” Dan says softly. “Just wanna see something. Do you trust me?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” Phil answers easily. And it’s too much for Dan’s heart to cope with. No one has ever been quite this open around him, and he doesn't’ want to ruin it. Doesn’t want to go too fast, be too much, scare him away with how much he’s willing to dive in head first. “Are you actually going to feed me to him?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, it’d only take him seventy years to eat you.” Dan laughs. “Just—let me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Already said ‘kay.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil has, has already agreed to whatever plan Dan has up his sleeve. And he really isn’t doing this just to touch Phil, he really does have to know if the staring was a fluke. Needs to know if he’s somehow stumbled upon the one other person on planet earth that Karma actually likes.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan wraps gentle fingers around Phil’s wrist, doesn’t think too much about how his fingers can loop all the way around, the paleness of Phil’s skin against the ever so slight tan of his hands. Dan guides both of them towards the tank, hovers over Karma who looks—still, ready for whatever is happening.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, so, that’s good.” Dan says.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Is it?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm.” Dan releases his hold, slowly pulls his hand away. And it’s not like Karma can do any actual damage, doesn’t know why he’s treating it like a life or death situation. Just something delicate about the whole moment. “Turn your hand over so it’s, like, palm up.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil does as he’s told, and he does it at a pace that works, that doesn’t scare.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“See if he’ll climb on, just—slide it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">So Phil does, and Karma has no issue about being held by someone who isn’t Dan.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Well, fuck, now I look like a liar.” Dan laughs, but he’s actually fucking over the moon. Maybe this all means something, maybe Karma is a soul-mate identifier— sent to Dan to approve of Phil.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ah!” Phil squeals, quietly—trying to hold back all the happy. “I have the Karma seal of approval, guess now that means I have to come back.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan watches on as he lifts him up out of the tank, and he’s honestly of the verge of tears as he watches Karma reach out out to squeeze Phil’s nose. “God, and here I was… thinking i’m special.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Can I feed him? Please?” Phil asks, all delight.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah. Course.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“It’s warm in here.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks for what? Complimenting your central heating?” Phil asks with a laugh.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Despite the whole dairy situation, Phil sticks around for a while. Forges his bond with Karma, makes Dan fall a bit more. They sit on the sofa, and it’s Dan’s usual routine, but it feels a million times different now.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I feel like I have to wear this exact outfit every time I see him, maybe it’s the jacket he likes.” Phil theorises, giving himself double chin as he stares down at the thing. “Fancy buttons.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I mean, I like the jacket, but I think it’s your whole vibe people enjoy.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan curls up in the corner, watches Phil through half closed eyes. He’s exhausted, had plans to come home and collapse straight into bed. The sofa is too small for the both of them, they’re sat too close, touching at a couple of points. It makes Dan think too much about how this could actually be his life, how coming home to Phil sounds pretty nice.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Good to know.” Phil smiles, and when he drops his hand from the button fiddling, it lands on Dan’s ankle and it stays there. “God. I need to like—go sleep. I have a premiere tomorrow, you know? My newest film.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh?” Dan asks, perking up from his half slumber. “I didn’t know you had a new new one.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, that’s what i’ve been doing all the interviews for. If this one does well I can—dunno.” Phil sighs. “Hopefully convince someone to buy the other script I was telling you about.”<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Can I read it?” Dan blurts, not thinking straight at all. “Nope, ignore me. Obviously I can’t read it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Dan.” And it’s not just there, still, anymore. Now Phil’s thumb is stroking over his skin, dipping up and beneath the ankle of his jean. “You can read it, if you want. It’s not one hundred percent there yet, needs a couple tweaks. Dunno, maybe you’ll—like a fresh set of eyes.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Really?” Dan tries not to sound to excited—doesn’t know what he feels more happy about, reading the script or the trust Phil is, once again, handing over so willingly. “I’d love that. You’re—dunno. You’re always so interesting, different to all the other things i’ve seen lately.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil smiles, something soft—something definitely fond. Dan can’t even lie to himself this time, that’s the smile of someone who has to feel more. “Stroke my ego some more.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll stroke something.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ooo, don’t make promises.” Phil abruptly stands, takes all the warmth with him. “I really should leave.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, yeah, sorry. Keeping you from busy important things.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You’re an important thing.” Phil says, and Dan lets himself believe it. “I just know my manager will kill me if I roll out of bed after, like, an hours sleep.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t have to explain yourself.” Dan hauls himself up with a groan, doesn’t think about how Phil reaches out to help him without Dan even having asked. They hold hands, again, just for a second.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan likes to convince himself he doesn’t deserve things, maybe doesn’t anything at all. But for once he’s going to let himself have this, whatever this is. He’s going to lean into all the moments, not going to turn anything down just because his brain tells him he isn’t good enough a person to deserve happiness.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll just—“ Phil pops back over to Karma, leans down to say a goodbye.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You know you’re going to have to swing by at least twice a week now.” Dans says, stood in the middle of the room with his arms crossed over his chest—trying to stop himself from doing something stupid like reaching out, clinging on. “Think he’ll be a right moody bastard if he never sees you again.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You say that like it’s a punishment, would love to see the green dude. We can—joint custody? Is that a thing for a chameleon? It should be a thing.” Phil’s back on his feet, pulling his jacket down from where it has bunched up. Dan wants him to stay.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Did we get a divorce?” Dan asks. “Can’t remember the part where we got married and became parents.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Na, not stupid enough to divorce you.” Phil crosses the room then, and Dan wishes he were braver. Wishes he could go one step further, actually convince himself to do something, but it turns out he doesn’t have to be the brave one. Phil’s the one to pull him in close, to envelop him in strong arms. A hug shouldn’t have Dan’s heart behaving so badly.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It feels like home. And Dan’s spent so long denouncing love at first sight, and this almost feels like a punishment for that.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Dave? hi, sorry it’s late, just wondered if you were coming into the store tomorrow?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Can swing by if there’s a problem.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Just wanna talk about bert, need to ask something</b> </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>hey, fishy boy, you doing anything tonight at 6?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Na. maybe sitting, why? At work till half four so may be grumpy at 6</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>got a suit?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">erm, kinda?</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Want to go to a movie premiere?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Wtf, really?</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Yeah got a spare ticket! :) </b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">obviously yeah, but it’s not my fault if i’m embarrassing </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What’re you smiling at now?” Dave asks, choosing that exact moment to walk in. He’s getting good at that lately, developing a habit for catching Dan doing things he shouldn’t be. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Give me some credit, Dan.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You know what i’m smiling at.” Dan doesn’t even know why he’s trying to pretend, he’s already given Dave everything there is to know. Apart from he hasn’t told him about yesterday, about all the touching, the way Phil pulled him in close and seemed reluctant to let go. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">And that’s honestly all Dan can think about, how it felt to be held. How Phil wouldn’t let go until Dan did, and how Dan only did because he was about to burst into tears and make some grand confession of love—or not love, but something. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It’s just, Dan’s done this before. Fallen too hard too quickly. It’s always come back around to bite him, or come back around to him awkwardly packing up his stuff and leaving yet another apartment. He’d stopped with it all at twenty-five, decided enough was enough, that he couldn’t commit to someone else so quickly.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">But it’s different with Phil, at least that’s what he keeps telling himself. All past relationships, even one year in, had never felt like this. He’d never been quite so willing to spend all of his time thinking about someone, all of his time <em>with</em> someone. Maybe past him had been invested in the attention, got caught up in the fact someone wanted him rather than the <em>someone who </em>wanted him. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Phil again? You get this—weird look… faraway. Like you’re in the room, but your head definitely isn’t.” Dave dumps a box on the counter and it makes Dan jump, makes him realise how, once again, he’d been deep in fantasy land. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What’s that?” Dan asks, prods at the box with his finger and just from that he can tell it’s something stupidly heavy.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Pebbles, mate. You sold all ours, remember? That guy you conned.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, shutup, he’s already forgiven me for that.” Dan says, ducking beneath the counter in search of the box cutter. He may as well pretend to do his job now that Dave is literally stood in front of him. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You didn’t answer my question, what’s he said this time to make you so happy?” And Dave is a gossip, no matter how much he likes to deny it. Spends half his time in the store making up weirdo stories for the customers—<em>having an affair, into feet, trying to steal a fish.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Just invited me somewhere.” Dan’s tries to play it down, like he’s not literally bursting at the seams. He butchers the box trying to open it, somehow misses the tape three times and instead stabs at the cardboard. It’s not his fault his hands are shaky, he’s been invited to an actual movie premiere with the love of his life—well, something of his life. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Doubt an invite to—where? The shop? Lunch? Is turning you into whatever this is you’re doing right now.” Dave finally takes pity, takes away the cutter so he can slice open the box himself. And it really is just pebbles, Dan was hoping that was a lie and something new and exciting had come in. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“He—ugh, right.” Dan sighs, pulls the little stool forward so he can sit down even though—yeah, he really shouldn’t. “He invited me to a movie premiere as his plus one, and i’m losing it. Cos is that a date? Is that just I want you to appreciate my movie? Is that—</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Shush, you’re going to wipe out any braincells you have left.” Dave hushes him, and Dan really wants to bust out someone adoption papers—he’s not even above begging at this point. “You said yes, so don’t think about anything else. You’re going, and that’s that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“How’d you know I said yes?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dave raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Right.” Dan says. “Yeah, obviously I said yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“To distract you from that, why were you desperate for me to be here today?” Dave asks, going one step further in the job Dan is supposed to be doing, actually starts unloading all the pebbles and plonking them on the shelf. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh! God, yeah.” Dan stands, thinks this important enough a conversation to be stood up. “Bert.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What about him?” Dave throws a look Bert’s way, probably checking Dan hadn’t accidentally killed up during locking up the store last night. He’d only ever accidentally <em>nearly</em> killed a fish, then spent his life repenting—reading a million books on optimum tank temperature. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I think I wanna buy him?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh?” That does make Dave stop what he’s doing, turn around and stare at Dan—considering. “Why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Someone came in and, like, seemed to want him… a lot.” Dan shrugs, picking at his thumbnail. “And I was jealous, I guess? I didn't want him to go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm.” Dave stops staring at Dan, instead turns to stare at where Bert has perked up in his tank. And it honestly looks like he’s listening in on the conversation, heard his name and decided to pay attention. “What do you think? Finally gonna go home with Dan after all that Karma business?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not my fault he scared away all the customers.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“He was a green little bastard, wasn’t he?” But despite the words, Dave sounds fond.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“He actually—god, ok, he likes Phil. Phil wanted to meet him, did last night. They were friends.” Dan admits, just because he feels like he has to, because he’s got this whole maternal instinct going on and he feels the need to protect Karma. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, been to flat, ay? Never told me that.” Dave isn’t even facing Dan’s way, but he can hear the smirk. “You can have Bert, just bring him in every once in a while so he doesn’t forget me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Can I… also have the tank?” Dan asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll take it out of your wages.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dave hangs around all day, because when they think about taking about Bert’s tank they both realise there’s going to be a weird gap. They end up spending hours on an entire shop remodel, moving everything around until it doesn’t feel quite so empty. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan’s a sweaty rat by the time 3pm comes around, realises he hasn’t had lunch, realises he’s going to have to leg it home and jump in the shower if he wants to look presentable for the <em>actual </em>red carpet. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Looks good.” Dave does a low whistle, eyes scanning the room. And it does, actually, Dan’s sort of proud of it. He’s not going to stand there and gloat about how most of the design choices were his own, but he’ll secretly think about it in his own head. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so moist, why are fishtanks so heavy?” Dan’s not whining—maybe just a tiny little bit. He presses his palm to his forehead, isn’t surprised when it comes back damp. “Do I smell?</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Always.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Haha.” Dan’s not going to elbow his actual boss, but he does give him the middle finger when he’s not looking. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You got a suit? For this movie premiere?” Dave asks, leaving Dan to do the finishing touches. Make sure everything on the shelves are straight, that all the fish are still chill after their big day. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah… sort of, i’ll make do.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan hears the sound of the till, then Dave clearing his throat. “Here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Dan spins on his heel, blinks several times in quick succession at the wad of cash in Dave’s hand. “No.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, this is your yearly bonus. Go buy a decent suit, don't wanna open the newspaper tomorrow and see you on—what they called? Ugly lists.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks.” Dan snorts. “Think you mean worst dressed lists.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, whatever. That.” Dave is holding it out, and Dan knows he won’t put it back in the till. Will only stand there until Dan takes it. So he does with a sheepish smile, with a million thank you’s. With another adoption certificate idea brewing—he really should discuss the daddy issues. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Are you positive? I can put it back whilst you’re not looking.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Dan, I know you think you don’t do much, but this place really wouldn’t stay afloat without you.” Dave says, and he’s incredibly sincere for once—which means he must mean it. “Now go buy a suit, i’ll stay here and close up?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh!” Dan squeaks, because he hadn’t been expecting that part. He dithers on the spot for a second, then he decides, fuck it, Dave gets a hug. It’s awkward in the small space behind the counter, but he needs Dave to know just how much he appreciates this—appreciates everything he’s ever done for Dan. “Thankyou.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Suited and booted</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>we’ll be there to pick you up in twenty</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">we’ll?</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Yeah i have a driver to like take me there, i know i made up a whole speech about how i hate that. but this is… the law, or something. Probably for the best, if i drove myself we’d somehow end up inside the cinema in the car</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">You’re really holding out on me with this Audi, feel like i’ll never see it again</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>can come stand outside my house for a few hours a day, if you want</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Exactly. finally a good offer. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil’s stood outside on the pavement waiting for him, leant up against a steel black car. And the car is nice, but all Dan can really focus on is the suit Phil is wearing. How it tappers in perfectly at the waist, black accents, a deep shade of blue—fucking velvet of all things. He’s probably salivating on the path, making it obvious he’d rather turn around and take Phil upstairs with him. There will be other movie premieres—probably.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">And it takes Dan a second to pull his head out of his own arse, to realise that all the time he’s been staring, Phil has been staring back in the exact same way. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You look—“ Phil falters, catches his bottom lip between his teeth. And for a moment Dan’s terrified he’s gotten the dress code wrong, he was supposed to turn up in fancy dress—bust out the Shrek costume from 2009. “God, get in the car.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I look… god?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You look really good, Dan. I would say you scrub up well, but you always—you look good all the time.” Phil says, just like that. And he’s good at words, when he wants to be, says things to Dan that make him more hopeful for what this <em>might</em> be. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, thanks, you too.” And Dan would’ve loved to have actually looked Phil in the eye for that, but instead he’s staring down at his own hands. “Erm—oh! I got Bert, by the way. Moving him in tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Good!” Phil smiles. “But you should get in the car.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, sorry.” Dan laughs nervously, because the car is oddly low and he’s very tall. He can’t quite work out a way to get inside without making himself look like a weirdo who doesn’t know how to sit. But he has to move soon because Phil’s been holding the door open for the last ninety seconds, and the driver is just staring at them both through the front mirror. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan goes for graceful, he really tries, but he ends up sliding in at an odd angle. Now sprawled across the seat like a reject Kate Winslet. Phil laughs, a lot, too much. Like this is the funniest thing in the world to him, Dan’s a top class comedian putting on a special free show. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“If you’d wanted me to paint you like one of my French girls, you should’ve just said.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh—fuck off, it’s so low!” Dan swivels back around until he’s sat up right, making room for Phil to get in without literally having to sit on Dan’s lap. “Let me see you get in here normally.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ok.” Phil smiles, then proceeds to do just that. Slides into the seat with a grace-fullness Dan didn’t even know Phil possessed. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Well—whatever. You’ve had practise, so.” Dan sounds whiny, and that’s because he is. Because he can’t seem to have a day in which he doesn’t do something mildly embarrassing in front of Phil. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“If that makes you feel better, Danny.” Phil pats his leg, hand lingers on his knee. “Nice material.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh—yeah, it’s the most expensive thing I own.” Dan turns to look out the window, hides the whole situation going on with his face—smiling, blushing, generally being an obvious wreck.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">They just seem to end up in such close proximity all the time, even when they don’t need to be. Even when there’s an entire shop, an entire flat, to stand in. They still end up right next to each other, pawing and touching and—Phil initiates a lot of it. Usually his hand on Dan’s skin, him coming to stand unnecessarily close. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan wants to bring it up, ask if Phil is just that sort of person—tactile to the extreme. But then he’d sound like he was fishing for something, which is he, but that’s not the point. He’s just going to watch carefully tonight, watch how Phil is around people he knows, people he’s worked with for months. And if Phil touches, if Phil hugs, if Phil clings onto all the others then Dan will know all this—romance—has just been in his own head. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t even like velvet.” Phil says, peering down at his own suit with a certain amount of disdain. “It’s like—if you rub the material the wrong way then it feels weird. Kinda like the same thing—you know nails on a chalkboard?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Then don’t rub it?” Dan suggests with a laugh, then Dan does the opposite of that and reaches out to touch. It’s a good excuse, one he couldn’t really pass up. “Soft.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil hums his agreement, makes Dan jump out of his skin when he brings up his hand to gently pull Dan’s away. And it’s holding hands again, but not, it’s thinly veiled excuses to touch. “My manager would kill me if I get a grubby little handprint on this, gotta give it back to the designers.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Are you—i’m not grubby.” Dan protests, sort of, might be able to protest more if Phil’s thumb wasn’t stroking gentle circles into his skin. “Who’s the designer?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Alexander Mcqueen.” Phil lets go of his hand. “So I should probably— I dunno, not eat anything whilst i’m wearing it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“God. There was this jumpsuit in a magazine by him, and I wanted it so bad. I don’t know if i’d even wear it outside, just take a couple fancy instagram photos in it.” Dan says, trying to distract himself from just how big a deal Phil is. Alexander Mcqueen doesn’t dress just anyone for the red carpet. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll get in touch with my contacts, see what I can do.” Phil’s teasing, but Dan does believe him for a split second. Only gets it when Phil smirks, then laughs about how Dan’s eyes had glazed over. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Can you not like—crush all my dreams right in front of me, please?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I have an actual few pieces of his in my wardrobe, stuff I was allowed to keep.” Phil says, eyes scanning the length of Dan’s body. Lingering in the place the suit fits a little bit snug. “I’d say we’re the same size, come over and play dress up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">There’s tension, at least in Dan’s head. Enough sexual tension for them to just fuck in the back seat of the car. And Dan wouldn’t object to that, as long as the driver got out. But Phil’s a professional, Phil has put his all into this movie, Phil isn’t going to let them go at each other on all this Italian leather. And Dan isn’t going to let that happen either, because he’s vegan and that’s probably against the law. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh? Now who wants who naked in their flat?” And nothings going to happen right now, but Dan can still push his luck. Dan can still try for something happening later. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil just smiles politely—tight lipped, complete opposite to the usual way he looks at Dan. It’s like the moods entirely flipped, Dan’s just a naughty kid sat in the back pushing it all too far. All the sexual tension now just—tension. “Right, so, ground rules for tonight.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Right.” Dan sits up straighter, needs to prove to Phil that he’s paying attention. Taking this entire thing seriously, taking <em>Phil </em>seriously. “Go on, i’m good at following rules.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Are you?” Phil asks, cocking his head—doesn’t look like he believes Dan at all. “Don’t talk to the press.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I—“ Dan snorts, doesn’t think he actually has to say what he was going to because it’s obvious. But Phil’s looking at him expectantly. “I doubt the press would want to speak to me, i’m literally nobody.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You’d be surprised.” Phil gives him a final look, something of a warning, before he turns to stare out the window. “They want to know things, and they think the—you know, the people we spend our time with will be willing to talk. Get their five minutes of fame.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">And now Dan’s in a mood, because all of that was unfair. Because Dan’s never done anything to suggest he’s ready to sell his story—not that there is a story to sell. <em>Phil came into my store to buy a fish, might’ve flirted, might’ve not. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil seems to sense it, corrects himself when the silence drags on for too long. “Sorry—god, I don’t think you would. Not on purpose. They’re just trained to ask questions that trip people up, make them admit to things without even realising.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What do I have to admit to, Phil?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil pauses, stares at Dan for a beat too long, then he shakes his head. “Nothing, I suppose. Nothing at all.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">They sort it out before they actually get to the premiere, settle into the usual routine of stupid words—making each other laugh. The tension turns back to the usual sort of tension, the I really want to kiss you sort. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan doesn’t understand what it was all about, probably not about him at all, more Phil’s need for privacy. Because he is incredibly private. In all the interviews he’s watched Phil has never slipped once, never said more than base level information. Offered opinions that don’t really matter, because it’s about a fucking—bird, or something. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan’s almost jealous of it, because he’s awful, has a massive mouth and a tendency to over-share. He wishes he could keep his brain on lock, that there weren’t an immeasurable amount of people walking the earth who knew too much about him.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ready?” Phil asks, getting out of the car with all the grace he possessed whilst getting in. “Hope you’re into camera flashes.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, love them, wouldn’t have been on myspace without them.” And Dan’s surprised when Phil offers out a hand, assists him out and onto the path. It’s gone the minute it’s no longer needed, but there were still enough cameras around to potentially capture the moment. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Can you remember how to walk?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, kinda. One foot in front of the other, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” Phil laughs. “Something like that, just—turn around if it gets to blinding point.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It’s a lot, more than Dan had been expecting. The lights are non-stop, as is the noise. Between the press and the screaming fans, he almost wishes he’d brought earplugs. But it’s fine, because Dan can turn around, Dan can hover back. It’s Phil that they want, and Dan can hardly blame them for that. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil’s just as awkward on the red carpet as he had been the first time in the shop. Shoves his hands in his pocket at an awkward angle for nearly every photo, blinks harshly when the flash goes off stumbles over his own feet as he’s urged up. And that’s probably why people love him so much, not this picture of perfection that every other celebrity is. He doesn’t glide, he trips, he doesn’t pout he… Dan doesn’t even know how to describe it. He’s relatable, in that odd way. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">And despite all that, he still looks beautiful. He still charms everyone he passes, charms Dan even further when Phil stops and makes sure people acknowledge that Dan is here—that he exists. Everyone is polite to him, but they’re not interested, really. Apart from Phil, who seems more focused on Dan than anyone else. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">They’ll both find out later that there’s only a few photos where Phil isn’t awkward, where he isn’t mid-blink, and they’re the ones where he was looking over at Dan—all this fondness on his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">When they get to the end Phil catches onto his arm, turns then back around. Starts walking away from the cinema, which is confusing because the whole point of this was to watch a movie. Dan thinks about secret entrances, about watching from up on some exclusive balcony—just him and Phil. Kissing in a cinema is a bit gross, but when you have your own balcony… that’s different. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Have fun?” Phil asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Erm— yeah? Where are we going?” Dan’s struggling to keep up, even with Phil guiding him. He nearly trips on his own dress shoes because he keeps turning around, keeps staring at the building they’re, apparently, definitely not going inside. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, yeah.” Phil laughs, but Dan has no idea at what. “I don’t actually stay and watch the movie.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, what?” Dan asks, perplexed by all the multitudes that make up this man who is careening him back towards the car. “But—that’s the whole point, right? It’s a literal fucking movie premiere.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil doesn’t reply until they're back in the leather seats, until he’s forced Dan to do his seatbelt up—like he thinks Dan is going to make a run for it. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t like watching my movie for the first time like that, it gives—they’re all paid to be there, basically. A few members of the public, but not enough to get an actual reaction.” Phil explains. “So, I don’t bother. I don’t want— I don’t want this false sense of pride cos people who were paid to be there are clapping, tell me it’s good.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.” Dan murmurs. “That’s the most pretentious thing i’ve ever heard, but also somehow the least.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I go on my own the day after, when it’s released to everyone else. I sit in the back for a few showings, get the genuine public opinion. Then I use their reactions to make sure my next movie is better.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“That’s…” That’s what? Oddly endearing, maybe, but he can’t say that out-loud. Or he could, because—no, he’s not brave enough inside this car. Not whilst there’s an audience of one up front. Not when there’s nowhere to run if it all goes wrong—he’s not trained in barrel rolling out into the street. “Cool.” Dan settles on. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“My manager hates it, but would hate it more if I never wrote anything else, so.” Phil shrugs, looks smug about getting his own way amongst the Hollywood elites. “If this one goes well they’re going to start serious talks about that one I told you about, still need to get you the script, actually.” He pauses, considering something. And Dan doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t start anything new because he needs to know whatever it is Phil has to say. “Do you… maybe want to come back to mine and pick up a copy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” Dan agrees immediately, practically bites Phil’s hand off by how quickly he takes the offer. “I’d like that, yeah.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan still feels a bit upset about the lack of Audi, has this whole fantasy about putting his hand on Phil’s thigh whilst he’s driving. But maybe that’s another thing for another day. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">His apartment is—god. It’s fucking huge, and Dan feels half embarrassed about his own. Wonders if Phil caught the slight damp in one of the corners, or could hear how leaky one of the taps in his bathroom was. Then he thinks Phil isn’t like that, has never shown himself to care about material things. Anything he does have seems forced upon him. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">And the apartment is huge, but the decor isn’t anything that screams pretentious. Dan would actually call in cozy, all soft furnishings and shelves filled with things that clearly have memories attached to them. It’s not the leather and marble situation he’d been expecting when he first walked in. It’s just like Phil, it’s warm and inviting. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Want a drink?” Phil asks, pressing a hand briefly to the small of Dan’s back as he walks past. “I have—erm, too much. Probably. Whole little trolley of the stuff.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan’s trying to follow him, but he’s getting distracted by the way the blue velvet hugs his eyes. Getting distracted by the way it perfectly fits his shoulders. Everything about Phil makes him stumble. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” He says, finally. “Show me your mad cocktail making skills.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">And, alright, the kitchen might have a little bit of marble—but it’s sexy. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Prepare to be disappointed, the most skill I have in cocktail making is on the sims.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan laughs, the noise quieter than usual because he feels nervous. He feels as though they’ve been on the precipice of something all evening, dancing around each other. Dan wants something to happen but he’s scared that Phil doesn’t. Scared he’s been interpreting this all wrong, he really does just want someone who’s gay to read over his script and give a gay thumbs up. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Just stick me some vodka in a pint glass, that’ll do it.” Dan hovers in the entry way, watches as Phil goes through a million and one disastrous motions. He predicts the glass smash before it even happens, Phil is nimble in some ways but it definitely doesn’t extend to fancy glass tricks. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It smashes all over the tiles and they both rush to pick it up. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No—Dan. Don’t. I’ll clean it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">They’re both on their knees, and Dan wants to make some sort of joke about that but he can’t because Phil’s so fucking close. He almost forgets there’s a pile of glass between them, that they should probably do something about that before they end up getting hurt. Dan doesn’t care about getting hurt, would walk over glass just to get Phil to kiss him— if that’s what it took.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Phil frowns, because apparently Dan’s just been staring for a beat too long. “You… want to clean it up?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan shakes his head, wishes he could speak so he could say something impressive. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Then get up before you end up with bleeding knees.” Phil laughs, but he still sounds a tad confused about the whole thing. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Phil.” And it sounds desperate. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It’s a moment, despite how disastrous. Phil’s eyes are incredibly earnest as they meet Dan’s, and it makes Dan realise Phil properly cares about him. He doesn’t quite know what to do with it, never had someone look at him with such affection before. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing.” Dan says, because he’s a coward, because there’s a one percent chance that Phil could turn his head. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">And he’s expecting that to be that, but apparently Phil has other ideas. Apparently Phil is willing to be brave enough for the both of them, because there’s suddenly a cool hand pressed to his cheek. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Dan.” Phil says, and it sounds desperate, too. “What were you going to say?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan lets out a noise, a broken stupid thing that somehow gets the point across. It’s nothing, but it’s everything. No one sounds like that unless they’re already feeling wrecked, unless they <em>want. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck.” Phil whispers. “Can I kiss you? I’ve wanted to kiss you—god, when you were piling your scam job pebbles into the back of my car.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dan forgets about the glass because he’s too willing to dive in and nearly send Phil flying. The pain doesn’t resonant, all that he knows is how Phil’s lips feel against his own. The eagerness in which he kisses back, how he tilts his head to subtly re-adjust because Dan had gone in at an awkward angle. But he never breaks it, never for one second does Phil try to separate them. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil’s all hands, like he doesn’t know where to put them because he wants to put them everywhere. It makes Dan giggle, it makes him fucking ecstatic. It feels like a proper movie kiss, until he moves and a shard of glass ends up right in his knee.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Shit.” He flies backwards, and the look on Phil’s face is something—broken. And Dan is rushing to fix it, a million apologies falling out of his mouth instead of just explaining why he’d just dramatically ended things. “Glass.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil blinks, then his eyes go wide when he remembers why they’d been down on the floor in the first place. “God, yeah, you ok?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Just, like, mildly stabbed.” Dan assures, even though he knee feels a little bit on fire. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil shuffles round the mess, and places a tender kiss to the place that’s Dan’s clutching at. It makes his heart flip, makes Dan think falling love could be so fucking easy. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll go get some stuff to clean you up with.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Does it hurt?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No, it’s fine. Probably didn’t need a whole bandage.” Dan laughs, Phil had gotten a bit dramatic when he’d seen the blood. “But thanks, seeing you play doctor was hot.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I was worried, you could’ve bled out!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
“I think by the time you got back it’d actually stopped bleeding, you just wanted me to strip out of my trousers.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No… but, erm—you have nice legs. Added bonus.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“My injury was an added bonus?” Dan teases, just to make Phil turn a pretty shade of pink.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You know what I mean.” Phil says. “Should we… talk?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“About how I wanted to kiss you so bad I literally knee’d my way across broken glass?” They’re both sat on the sofa now, Dan lounged against the cushions with his arm across the back of it. “Or about the kiss in general?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t— like.” Phil sighs. “I don’t want you to think I invited you back here just for that, I really do care about what you think. I do want you to read my script, but I do also like you a lot.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“God. I like you, too. Every time the stupid bell above the shop goes off I want it to be you.” Dan admits, arm moving from the back of the sofa to wrap around Phil. “I thought we were gonna kiss in front of the fish tank.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I— nearly did. Then I got all paranoid about the fact that I was like—what if i’m just pressuring someone who’s really good at customer service?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, yeah.” Dan laughs. “I invite all the customers to stay in after closing time in hopes they’ll realise I have a massive crush on them.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You’re so pretty, did you know that? So fucking pretty.” And it’s the end of the conversation, because Phil’s kissing him again. Pushing him back against the arm of the sofa, in his lap, making it clear just how much he wants Dan. And he’d love to be having some deep thoughts about reciprocation, about how much this all means, but all he can think about is Phil’s tongue and what it’s doing. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Phil… fuck, tell me if you wanna move this to the bedroom, or if I should like start thinking about something that turns me off.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Bedroom.” Phil says. “Definitely bedroom.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil wakes him up with a full blown breakfast, a fucking vase with a flower in it on the tray. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Morning. We went to bed without eating, thought you might be hungry.” He places it on the bedside table before diving back underneath the covers, pressing his cold toes against Dan’s thighs. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Hungry for something else.” Dan says, rolling over so he can resume last night. Fuck morning breath, fuck the fact he definitely needs a shower. All he cares about is Phil, the fact he finally has him. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil gives in for a second, indulges Dan with gentle hands and—he fucking bites. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ow!” Dan screeches. “But also, that was hot. Do it again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“No. Eat your breakfast, I worked really hard on it.” Phil smiles, and it’s got to be put on because he looks just as interested as Dan feels. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Gotta at least pretend I have self-control.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Self-control sucks.” Dan whines. “And I suck, if you let me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“That was awful.” But Phil’s laughing, and drawing Dan back into his space. “Just eat a little bit, then we’ll go take a shower together.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Fine.” Dan agrees. “Thankyou.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“God. Why do I like you so much?” Phil giggles, and it’s too hard to not join in. Everything about the situation feels surreal, too much like a movie to really be true. But Dan is willing to believe it is, Dan is willing to dive in head first. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">it’s good</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>hmmmm?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">your movie, it’s really fucking good. I actually cried. so did karma. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>did you take a photo of your tears?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">is that a… thing for you? Kinky</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>No. Shutup. also remember to bring some pants over with you this time, i’m running out cos you keep stealing mine</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Maybe that’s my kink</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>And I’m willing to indulge, just warn me so I can start buying the £5 packs from tesco. u know Calvins are £30 a time</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Ouch. i seem to recaaaaall you liking me in your clothes</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Hush. Did you really like it? Do you think it’s good enough to push it to the studios again?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Phil, it’s perfect. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Ok, ok. come over now?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">i’m at woooork</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>then i’ll come see you</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">drive here?</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>ugh, why?</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Wanna see if can suck you off in the audi</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Ok. ok, driving. </b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The bell above the shop door tinkles. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Hi.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Hello, sir, what can I do for you today?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve heard you have a pyramid scheme for pebbles, and I think I’d like to be a part of it.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <a href="https://fictropes.tumblr.com/post/640611024780787712/you-come-and-go-complete-24329-t-oh-hi-the">if you wanna reblog on tumblr, I always appreciate it! &lt;3</a>
</p><p>eeeek! and there the final chapter... finally is :P. hope you enjoyed! sorry about the fade to black, just wanted to run with the whole rom-com vibe!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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